


The Summer Soldier Project

by mikeytheauthor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Comic Book Science, Daddy Issues, Deaf Clint Barton, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hydra!Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker-centric, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Natasha Romanov, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 51,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeytheauthor/pseuds/mikeytheauthor
Summary: What if The Winter Soldier Program was not unique? What if, a long, long time ago, barely a distant memory, The Asset #4, along with the other Assets raised the next generation of high-class assassins, equipped to take down the world themselves. In other words, this is the story of how Bucky remembers the closest thing he had to a son, and how this child finds his way into his and his boyfriend Steve's apartment, and back into his life.Takes place after Infinity War and everyone survived except Vision highkey fucking rip for that guy. Dude has four dads but two are his brothers and the other his also his grandpa.





	1. An Unknown Reason

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be one sad ride buckle in sluts

Bucky Barnes has seen the most vile things through the eyes of the Winter Soldier. Unable to control his body or make the horrors stop around him was appalling. He’d been sole witnesses to torture, murder, and worse. In the file of worse, he would put “The Summer Soldier Project.” 

The Summer Soldier Project is some of the most despicable shit he’d ever seen. To steal the self-control of men and women was horrendous, but it was even more so when children were involved. These kids, none older than the age of eight years old, stolen from their enemies, were raised as weapons and as test subjects to any number of experimentation for HYDRA. All while clinging onto the pant leg of their favoured Winter Soldier. 

Bucky could remember his Summer Soldier in vivid technicolor. After all, he’d woken him up. Not as a sleeper cell, no, as himself. The little boy, permanently on crutches from the plane crash he’d been in, had something about him that made Bucky scream to be free. That made him fight against his training and try and remember himself. Of course he’d only managed to escape with him once.

It was a power shortage, in the dead of night. His Summer Soldier, still new to the base clung onto him tightly while he cried because the lightning was too loud and it was so dark in their entirely metal cage. Bucky’s arms felt like led because they were not his to control, but he wrapped himself around the small, fragile thing. The sobbing eventually stopped, and easy breathing replaced it, but anger kept bubbling and bubbling. He pulled the sleeping boy into his arms while he sat up. He watched over him and he remembered or at least tried to. All he knew was that he could not let a child be raised here when there’s a whole world outside. A world of which he’d forgotten he’d known, a whole world that had forgotten it had known him.

Bucky picked the three year old with ease. There was cuts all over him and in some places burnt, pale skin. Ones too deep too belong to a child his age, but they did, and it made him seeth with a motivational anger. Bucky forced a leg forward, breaking through the cement wall that was the Winter Soldier. His door, surprisingly, opened when he pushed it. Peering out he saw scientists and guards rushing about to figure out what the problem was. Bucky snuck out in the chaos and found himself in a foreign country with a malnourished, disabled, child. 

Bucky had made it six months without being caught. Bucky made it six months as partially, himself, caring for the sweetest toddler in this new world, some odd years into the future. Bucky tried to run when they stormed into the cabin he’d scoped out, but it was useless. He gets shivers remembering how they snatched the wailing boy from his arms, not even able to kick his legs in protest because of what they’d done to him in order to steal him from his parents. He spent another six months watching them break his boy until it was his turn to be broken again. That was undoubtedly the worst he’d seen them do. Ripping apart and sewing back together a three year old until he learned to enjoy it. It was sick.

After his Summer had fallen in love with HYDRA and all that it stood for, Bucky hoped life would get easier for him, but that’s never the case, at least not for a while. The little thing still had Program with the other Summers, and had to train with him. It always ended in him getting his ass handed to him. He was the youngest, the weakest, and the one that cried the loudest so of course the other Summer Soldiers would go after him to earn their pat on the back. It was always him until they tore his crippled legs off of him and they had to be replaced with metal ones, much to HYDRA’s, at first, displeasure. 

Once Bucky’s Summer Soldier could stand, he took off running. Climbing to the top of Program as the most promising future assassin with ease and grace, as he took down kids that were twice his age, and sometimes twice his size. He was even allowed to lead his own missions starting at the tender age of seven years old. Bucky was forced to tail behind since he was his Asset.

The last time Bucky had seen him, was a little while before his attack on his dear old pal Steve’s life. He was around fourteen at that time, he didn’t know how old he was exactly. They didn’t exactly through birthday parties at the ol’ base or anything, and everyone had been unfrozen and refrozen so many times that it was hard to keep track of the days spent alive and the days spent in cyro. Bucky could remember the slight emotions his Summer Soldier made at him when he walked off, as if he knew something to be off about this particular mission.

Bucky didn’t know why he remembered. He hadn’t for a very long time. He didn’t know how he could ever forget those eyes. The sound his legs made when they snapped off like twigs, the feeling shirts wetted from tears. Thoughts of Machine #7 haunt him now though. He doesn’t exactly know what to do about it.


	2. The Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seven. fourteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aye, it's ya boy, uh... skinny p3n15, and I'm out here in Amish, finna break some hearts.

Bucky swore out of the corner of his eye he saw his Summer’s shadow, but everytime he looked, there was no trace of the kid that had once been his. He could tell it was starting to worry Steve, but he didn’t know how to tell him what was wrong. It wasn’t like anything was actually wrong, he was just being paranoid for no reason. He usually was, especially after that whole thing with Thanos happened. When he was younger he hadn’t imagined retirement being like this. Since he wasn’t quite wrinkly or grey, but he did have Steve and a rocking chair, so, close enough, right? 

Steve and him picked up where they left off, being totally inseparable no matter the situation. Even though Steve and him had both changed in their own ways, they still managed to keep their own status quo. He’d missed the soft moments they shared together before he joined the 107th. Like watching Stevie try to cook and fail miserably, or watching him try and figure out which sketch book he should get. 

“Buck, what do you think the 3D pens do?” Steve asked him, picking up a box. They made it to the local art store at least once a week, now that they could finally relax in their retirement.

“Dunno. Sounds pretty cool though.”

“It says that you draw with it but the thing you draw doesn’t go on paper it just stays in the air.” Steve shrugged, looking at the box.

“Think it’s like the 3D printer the princess showed us?”

“Maybe.” Steve put it in the basket Bucky was pushing. He went back to scanning the new products to see if they had something else interesting.

Bucky enjoyed the domesticality of it all. He enjoyed that him and Stevie could share these moments, hands held and close together. He was born in the wrong generation honestly, he loves this century so much. He had no excuse for the heart eyes he sent Stevie’s way. 

A boy approached him dressed in staff clothing. “Do you two need help with anything?” He asked him. He looked like Machine #7. Green eyes bore into him. They asked why hadn’t he come back for him? They asked why he’d let Zemo kill him, or why he didn’t fight harder to get him out of that hellhole.

“No, we’re fine. Thank you.” Stevie spoke for them.

Bucky whipped his head from him to his boyfriend, when he turned back the minor no longer looked like the assassin he’d raised for all those years. Because this kid’s eyes were blue, not green, and they had never been brown. Bucky thought about it, all those years he forgot about. How did he forget? The boy walked off to do his job, but he couldn’t pry his eyes away from him.

“Bucky?” Steve put his hand over his boyfriend’s shoulder, he probably jumped ten feet in the air which didn’t do him any favours. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bucky, please.” Steve flashed him the classic eyes of concern and Bucky just about melted underneath his boyfriend’s palm.

“I’ll tell you when we get home.” He huffed quietly. He wanted to put it off for as long as possible, he wanted to push it all down and forget what he’d forgotten for once, because he doesn’t know how many man could deal with a guilt that sunk him so low. But, because Steve is Steve, he knew he’d squeeze it out of him eventually. Sometimes it’s just better to get it over with.

“Okay.”

After Steve did what he needed to do. Grabbing all the the art supplies he needed and checking out, they walked home. Stevie put away his supplies, he had his own studio that was right by their bedroom in their apartment. It was nice, the room was constantly stocked with almost everything, except for oil paint because he hates that shit. It reeks like sour milk and old eggs stirred in a bowl of fish guts and no amount of Febreeze or pretty paintings could change it. Bucky had sat on the couch, curled up staring out into space while Steve sat next to him.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened now?” 

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Could you try to?” He asked, placing a hand on his lover’s arm. Giving him those damn puppy eyes.

“It’s just that kid… for a second, he looked like someone I knew.”

“Who?”

“I forgot for so long… but I don’t know how I forgot, I-” Bucky rambled for a second, catching himself. He looked at Steve for a split second before floating his focus back to the floor. “He was just a kid. I didn’t even know his name. I don’t-”

“Bucky, please.” Stevie scooped his hands into his bigger ones, forcing him to look at him for another moment. “Just start from the beginning, okay?”

Bucky nodded a little, his mouth felt like he’d swallowed his own dust. “They called him Machine #7 and he was apart of a program similar to the Winter Soldier program, except he was a kid. They all were, but he was the youngest.”

“How old was he?”

“He couldn’t have been older than four, and he was at least three when they first brought him in. The last time I saw him, he was at least fourteen, I think.”

“How did you know about it? The kids I mean.”

“The Summer Soldier program and the Winter Soldier program had a lot of overlap. They decided to use kids because they’re impressionable, easy to manipulate. The Winter Soldiers mentored their own Summer and I had Machine #7.”

“What were they like?”

“Stronger, faster, smarter, more resilient, and a hell of a lot more loyal. One Summer Soldier could take down an entire army without blinking if they were asked to. They’d do it all with a smile and crack jokes right up until they got home too. They’d do it because they wanted to.” Bucky huffed out, refusing to look Stevie in the eyes anymore. He didn’t know how he could’ve forgotten. How he forgot the missions he went on with the small boy who grew up to kill with a smile.

“And what was Machine like?”

“He was the strongest of them all Stevie. They sent him on his missions probably before he even had the chance to actually turn seven.”

“Are they still out there?”

“No. They can’t be. You saw what Zemo did. They’re just as dead as the Winter Soldiers are.” Bucky shook his head, because they had to be dead. He’d seen the face of all the soldiers. All except for his.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Buck.” Steve spoke to him softly, caressing his cheek sadly.

“Don’t be. I wanna see what that 3D pen does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to leave me kudos and comments. i am but a poor, old man, with a fragile heart. i need it to live. also i update Mondays and Fridays keep your eyes open for them. things are about to get spicy.


	3. Think it into the Real World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's get funky!

Yesterday had been mildly emotional for Bucky and he sort of kinda wanted to forget about it for now. Him and Stevie were doing a Disney movie marathon cause Stevie is a nerd. Bucky enjoys the “I Lava You” short cause it’s cute though, so he doesn’t have much room to judge. Bucky was up getting snacks. Stevie had eaten all the popcorn, like a loser. 

“How much popcorn do you want?” Bucky asked him.

“I don’t care!”

“Liar.”

“I love you!”

“Mhm, yeah.” Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling out the popcorn bag and emptying it into the bowl. “How much?”

“More than Disney.”

“I feel honored, I was still asking about the popcorn though.” 

“Oh.”

“So two bags?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky put another bag in the microwave, watching it pop with his arms over his chest. He and Stevie hadn’t even gotten out of their PJs. That’s what kind of day it was. It was nice,though. Bucky enjoyed Disney marathon, only PJs days a lot actually. When the timer beeped, Bucky pulled out the second bag and dumped its buttery contents in the bowl with the rest of the popcorn. He walked back into the living room with in it close to his chest.

When Bucky turned the corner he saw Stevie on the couch, hands in the air with a panicked look on his face. His eyes quickly met his. In front of him stood a younger boy with a gun strapped across his chest. Machine.

“Bucky-” Steve started, but he was quickly cut off by the around fourteen-fifteen-ish boy.

“Shh. The competent soldiers are speaking, Stevie.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“With you still running around? I could never, Asset! And miss out on all the fun we could have?”

“Look, I don’t know what you want but I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

“What do you mean “that stuff.” You mean the right thing, Asset? I can see that, you kind of are hanging around Captain Rogers, the giant American flag with an equally patriotic dinner plate.”

“You need to go, now.” Bucky ordered. He’d dropped the bowl of popcorn in favour of making his way to the young boy he’d practically raised.

“Not without you, Asset. I came all this way just to see you!”

“That’s not my name.”

“And I am a loyal servant to Asgard.” Machine rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what they did to you, Asset but you don’t have to worry anymore. I can help you.” Machine spoke as he approached Bucky.

“Machine, no, this isn’t right!”

Bucky’s plees fell onto unlistening ears as the young boy easily scooped the older man off his feet by his collar.

“Don’t worry Asset, I can fix you.” He smiled to the man whom he had suspended in the air as if he weighed nothing. He shot Steve in the side before dropping the gun to his side and leaving with Bucky.

Bucky kicked at him, trying to escape the boy’s iron grasp but he couldn’t get away. While Machine dragged him off, he couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of Steve, clutching at his side while he cried in pain softly. He’d be fine, it hadn’t hit anything major, but the imagery was horrific. Stevie, covered in his own blood and pleading for his help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one comment = one prayer for bucket and stove


	4. The Kid-Napping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boom boom boom lemme hear y'all say Blease don't hurt Bucky

The kid had dragged him to some warehouse. He didn’t know exactly where, Machine had knocked him out to prevent him from screaming for help. Though, it smelled of salt, so he had his suspicions, they were by the bay. Machine had tied him to a chair, ripped his arm off and set it by the table so he’d have greater difficulty escaping. It’s a shame his intelligence is wasted on clean up missions for evil secret societies that didn’t even treat him good enough to warrant any loyalty.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Stevie. Wondering if he’d managed to get to the phone to call for help. He hoped he had. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed since he kid-napped him. He could tell he was up and about, he could hear his feet shuffling against the paved floors.

“G’morning, sleepy soldier. Did you dream about me?” Machine asked, suddenly sitting on the concrete floor in front of him.

“Why’re you doing this?”

“Because I missed my favourite Winter Soldier, Asset. Y’know, a lot has happened since we last saw each other. Did you know that all the Summer Soldiers are dead?”

“So are the Winter Soldiers.”

“Good, they were obsolete. But I do wonder, how the other Summer Soldiers done got gotted. You wouldn’t happen to know about that though, would you?” Machine asked sarcastically.

“Do remember when you were little and we went on the run from HYDRA? You used to wet the bed because you were so terrified of them coming back to take you from me again. That you is still in there, isn’t it?”

“Be quite, Buchanan. I grow tired of your small talk. It does not contain any relevant, new, or intriguing information pertinent to my mission. Just because you are deviant does not make me a defector as well. The past is the past, and the past must die. From its ashes will come a new day, Buchanan, and my loyalty to HYDRA will stand.”

“Really? Who sent you to come and collect me?” Bucky asked with a slight smirk, Machine slapped him across the face with the familiar red journal. His cheek burned like it had been lit on fire.

“I said, be quiet!” Machine demanded of him and opened the journal, searching the pages for a moment. “Although I am not here on direct orders. I do imagine they will be happy with me for bringing you back. And then, we can go back to the times when it was just you and me and our missions. Wouldn’t that be great, Asset?” 

“No.”

“I don’t care for opinions of Buchanan Barnes. ” He growled lowly, finding his page in the red journal. “Ah, there it is.”

Machine smirked, his finger tracing the words he read out in Russian. His joy faltering upon realizing it hadn’t effected Bucky at all. Bucky had a shit eating grin on his face.

“Gee, I really thought that would work too. I wonder what happened?” Bucky chuckled softly, but Machine grabbed him by the chin. He paused, looking like he was going to speak for a moment but he shook his head and let him go.

“Just be quiet, James.” Machine sighed, leaving him to read out of the red journal by himself. “Tomorrow, we will leave and you will stay quiet and follow my lead. Buchanan is useless to me, and I doubt HYDRA will care whether or not you show up back home dead or alive. Although, they might enjoy watching The Captain turn into another wonderful Asset for the cause.”

Bucky didn’t respond to him, just letting out a puff of air he held in his chest. Machine stood up to grab a vial and a rag. He dumped the contents of the vial onto the rag and walked behind him silently, holding said rag over Bucky’s mouth and nose until he fell limp in the chair. It was pathetic, really, how Buchanan fought him. This would be all so much easier if it was only Asset, instead of the every intrusive Buchanan, just like how he was only Machine. 

He was only Machine and never had been anyone else. He was born and raised into HYDRA and they treated him as such. A child of their collective, brilliant minds. Of course, they punished him for his wrong doings, what responsible parent wouldn’t? They raised him to be strong, obedient, and good willed so that’s what he was. He was a good soldier, he was simply just the best assassin one could ever consider to be killed by, and he was an intelligent spy when asked to be such. Maybe he could impress Asset, upon his return.

Machine does not sleep, but Buchanan does. Hopefully he’d gotten enough rest because he did not intend to further delay the route back to their home. He’d read through the red journal a few times. He would never not find himself being captivated by the words of his superiors as they spoke of better days to come, even if the price could become everything. He hoped Asset would never become apart of that price. Throughout the years he’d found himself illogically attached to the stoic man who’d taught him to be the perfect soldier, even if he, himself was indescribably flawed, and ineffective, in his design.

Machine had taken to tampering with the arm while Buchanan was asleep. He’d disabled its ability to power up so he would not be able to attack him at full force, or even really attack him at all. Even if he’d done this he was not scared of Buchanan, Machine #7 is never scared, but he didn’t want to risk him fighting back against his orders too much. His cover needs to be kept in order to fulfill his mission. Asset would be proud of his dedication, he hoped.

Machine took a glass of water and poured it over Buchanan’s face, causing him to jump awake once more. He’d already untied him and secured the arm back into place. They couldn’t stay here for much longer, but Machine had found a change of clothes hidden away so he placed them in Buchanan’s lap.

“Get changed. We’re leaving soon.” Machine spoke coldly and turned his back to Buchanan. He didn’t worry much over him trying to escape because all the Assets were weak. It was unfortunate Asset #4 was the weakest of them all. Machine could fix that too once they got back to the base. There was nothing Machine could not fix, he was confident in that fact because he was a well oiled and designed Machine, built by his predecessors and HYDRA.

“What do you think they’re gonna do to me?” Buchanan asked him.

“To you? They will make you better again. They’ll bring back Asset. That or they’ll kill you for your transgressions, which I think would be a waste, but it doesn’t matter what I think. Either way, we go back home.”

“Don’t you wanna live? Go out into the world and do something? Instead of going back there and being nothing?”

“I do not live, I am a Machine. I am something already, without HYDRA I am nothing. Without Asset I would be nothing, but you on the other hand? You tried to take me away from there, my home, and you took away my friend. You tried to make me nothing, but your tricks won’t work on me. I am not easily fooled, like you.”

“Right. I guess you just conveniently don’t remember them stealing you from a couple of dead parents they killed. Or did they wipe that too?”

“I am a child of HYDRA!” Machine growled angrily.

“Oh, they wiped it.”

Machine turned back around to find Buchanan dressed in the clothes he’d found hanging around, leaning against a table carelessly. He approached him, face almost red in anger. An emotion he hadn’t really felt ever until now because he was a Machine, and Machines are not creatures of emotions. They were not creatures at all, but his eyes turned a dark, and strange color as he marched his way toward Bucky. His hand snapped around the older man’s throat easily, he slammed his head against the table he pushed him down. He leaned in close to Bucky, he wanted to make himself clear.

“Listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. I will not hesitate to kill you if you do not learn to keep your mouth closed about things you don’t know about. Such as myself or my forefathers. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” Machine backed off, taking a deep breath or two. He allowed a few moments to pass. 

“Do you hear that?” Machine asked softly.

“Hear what?” Bucky rose a brow, he couldn't hear anything for a few more moments. Heavy footsteps. Machine grabbed a gun and pulled Bucky close when the front door came down. Behind it stood Agent Maria Hill, armed and ready to fire.

“Oh yay. A new friend. Just fantastic.” Machine rolled his eyes, his own gun trained on her.

“Let him go. I won’t ask a second time.”

“I’ll let him leave when you ask a second time then.”

“I warned you.”

Machine took the first shot, it clipped her side and sent her to the floor. Hill tried firing back but Machine abandoned Bucky on the floor to dodge the bullets. It was almost as he disappeared into thin air because neither of the two of them saw him move. Out of the shadows Clint appeared.

“Where did he go?” Clint asked. From the ceiling Machine fell behind him, trying to snatch his bow and arrows out of his hands. Clint turned around and tried to shoot at him. Machine ducked backwards, catching the arrow and placing it in Clint’s shoulder with a smile. 

Natasha appeared behind him, trying to get him into a lock. Machine used her momentum against her, ducking and weaving through her limbs with ease. He flipped over her as she tried to attack him. He shot at the beam that held the contraption they stood on in the air, knocking it off balance but not enough for it to fall. He slid forward as Natasha took a second to regain her balance. Machine knocked her feet out from underneath her and sent her flying backwards while he jumped over the railing, the gun he’d used clattering as it hit the floor a few feet away.

As he stood, Maria was charging at him gun still trained on him, she had Bucky behind her. He put his hands behind his head to pretend as though he was going to comply. When she stood beside him, he swiftly knocked her gun out of her palms. He pushed her leg forward with his foot, putting it between his metal ones. In one swift motion, and a whir of the inner mechanics of his legs as he charged them up he broke her leg clean in half. He sent her to the floor by slamming a foot into her chest. Hearing another satisfying crack. Natasha was back behind him though, rushing at him and fighting dirty by pulling on his hair.

“Legs! Go for his legs!” Bucky called out to them. Clint had gotten himself off of the ground and did as told, aiming his arrows to the boys legs but they all just bounced off.

Machine let out a frustrated cry and grabbed one of Clint’s arrows out of the air. He threw it right back at him, but in mid air it detonated. Natasha threw him to the ground in the split second he’d gotten distracted, but Machine got back up too fast for her to restrain him. Maria grabbed his leg as he tried to run forward and he brought the foot down on her face while Natasha went back at him, bringing him onto the concrete once more.

Natasha tried to hold him there as best she could, but the boy thrashed about hard. Bucky worked with Maria to get the metal legs off of him. Machine kicked Bucky square in the nose, breaking it as the leg creaked and started to snap off of him. He tried to bite Natasha but she hit his head into the concrete hard. One of his eyes came out of the socket in a very disgusting display. Blood pooling up where his eye was supposed to be while it hung out of him. Though, opposed to a normal eye being attached by the optic nerve, there, instead was a bundle of wires that connected into it. The back of the eye didn’t even look like it could be an eye as it was metallic and held all the wires in by one larger plug-in.

Bucky and Maria managed to pull the prosthetic limbs off of him. Leaving Machine writhing on the floor in pain because of the artificial nerve endings they had put into the legs. Bucky felt a great load of guilt flood his senses when he watched Machine getting cuffed and dragged off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip in peace Machine one comment is one prayer for Borky and the oily boi


	5. Chilling Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bada bing bada boom beter in the interrogation room

Behind a one way mirror is where Bucky sat while he watched they prepped the interrogation room for the enhanced interrogation HYDRA’s Machine #7. He had already felt sick enough when he watched the kid being strapped into the chair. Machine looked so impossibly small while they set things up around him. They’d stripped him of everything and had only given him a thin hospital gown for decency. They had even taken out his eyes, because they had been replaced by HYDRA with mechanical ones at some point. Bucky didn't remember that, so they must’ve done that after he’d left for some transgression or another. Or maybe he just couldn’t remember.

They set up the chair so he faced the mirror. That way they could all see his face when he spoke. They had gotten some sort of contraption set up around his head. He hoped it wasn’t what he actually thought it was, but it probably was.

Clint Barton and Frank Castle were in the interrogation room for security purposes, in case of attempted escape, even though that was a very unlikely possibility. This was also despite the fact Clint had just received an arrow to the shoulder. But he stood, at the ready, looking just ever so slightly nervous. Fury would be acting as interrogator later, and Bucky wasn’t so sure he was qualified for the job, but they needed everyone who could do anything, to do everything they could do on short notice, while also having close to no one on the scene. Steve was sitting next to Bucky in the adjacent room, he was starting to heal from the shot wound but he winced when he pushed Bucky to lean into his side. Natasha and Tony were on standby with them as well. Everyone was waiting for Machine #7 to wake up, and for Fury to actually show face. In the meantime, Tony Stark was the first to speak. He’d just gotten the decrypted files on Machine.

“Peter Parker. Son of Mary and Richard Parker, former Agents of SHIELD. Reported as dead after “accidental” plane crash at JFK, but his body was never found. His parents were found dead on the scene. Once Parker was presumed dead after a few weeks and the search parties stopped, but if he was dead, how could he be sitting in that glorified dentist chair over there?” Tony asked his small, unresponsive, and mostly uninterested crowd.

Steve was the next to speak up. “Because he didn’t die.”

“Correct! Looks like someone is getting their gold star today. After his presumed death, HYDRA stepped in to play house. Peter Parker completing their doll set of seven enhanced and genetically altered boys and girls club. Somehow, some way getting both his legs torn off by the rest of his classmates during playtime, he quickly climbed to the top of his class. Completing his training by being the sole murderer of the weakest “Machine.” Though, I don’t know what possessed them to scoop out the eyes of a little boys and replace them with cameras that have better facial recognition and interfaces than almost all smartphones that exist right now, of course except for mine.”

“Well that’s not inhumane.” Natasha said from her corner. Not bothering to look up at Stark.

“Correct! But you’re out of luck, because that’s not it! According to my handy-dandy spreadsheet provided to us by our favourite stereotypical supervillains, this kid had racked up more kills than probably every J-SOC operative ever. Has an impressive IQ score though, might have to give him my card whenever he stops “Hailing HYDRA.” He’s fluent in a metric fuck ton of languages, and can stick to walls like a bug. Maybe that’s why his other code name is “The Spider.” Says right here he was like eight, or something, when he went on his first independently led mission receiving escort from our favourite friend, Manchurian Candidate over here. What gives? Thought you were on our side?”

“I thought they were all dead. When I went on my last mission, they were shutting down the program. Sending them off, and locking them up with the defective Winter Soldiers because the Summer Soldiers saw people not taking everything as seriously as they did and killed their handlers. I saw the other Summer Soldiers dead with the Winter Soldiers in Siberia and I just thought… I thought he was there too, but I guess not.”

“So, you mean to tell me there’s a preteen killing Machine, emphasis on Machine, in the other room, with the killing potentials that out class you, Barnes, and what? HYDRA just cut him loose for summer break? But, seriously though, you just didn’t think to tell us about a program that just so happened to be above your pay grade? For all these years?”

“He thought it was over with, and he only just remembered last night that the kid had ever even existed, Stark. You can’t hold wanting to push those memories as far back as possible against him. You’ve done the same thing and I know because I’ve watched you do it. He thought they were killed by the fake doctor. If anything this should stand as a testament to how powerful this kid is. We should stop it now before this really gets outta hand.” Steve stood up, his hand over his dearest friend’s shoulder.

“Relax, Capsicle I’m not looking for Civil War two: Electric Teenage Boogaloo. I say we get the kid professional help. Send him off to Wakanda or whatever. I’ll even call up the princess for you for her input on this fun situation we’ve found ourselves in.”

“System override, boss.” FRIDAY said as the door to the adjacent room opened. Nick Fury.

“Ah look, the man of the hour.” Tony said, rolling his eyes as Fury walked in.

“Did you decrypt his files yet?”

“I’m insulted Fury. Of course I did.” Tony tossed the file onto a table so Nick could grab it. Nick took it and skimmed it briefly.

“You know what we have to do, right Stark?”

“Throw him a big party and tickle him until he tells us HYDRA’s darkest secrets?”

“Something like that.” Nick shrugged, setting down the file as the radio he had clipped to his side crackled to life.

“He’s up.” Clint said.

“I’m coming in.” Nick responded, and walked back out of the room. A few minutes later he was in the interrogation room.

Bucky curled into Steve’s side when he sat back down next to him. Fury turned on a panel that was connected to the machinery that was put on Machine #7’s head. 

“Good morning Mr. Parker. Do you remember how you got here?”

“I am Machine. I do not forget.”

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind answering a couple questions we have. So, why did you feel like taking the liberty of attacking some of our best operatives and kidnapping Mr Barnes, Mr Parker?”

“I am Machine!” Was the only thing he said in response, growling at Nick Fury.

“On whose’ authority did you engage SHIELD operatives and kidnap Mr Barnes, Parker?”

“I am Machine!”

“Are you capable of saying anything other than “I am Machine,” Mr Parker?”

“Hail HYDRA.” Machine said, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“I’ve had enough. Since you obviously don’t seem receptive to us doing this the nice way, let’s try my way.” Nick said, going over to the panel and turning a knob. The bright sound of electricity filling up the room while Nick shoved a guard into Machine’s mouth. Machine was used to the chair, he knew they couldn’t break him with it no matter how hard they tried, so Machine happily bit down. He pulled a lever on the panel and the mechanism around his head locking it on and it started to charge the synapsis of his brain with electricity. It was exactly what Bucky thought it was and it almost felt like he was having a nightmare, but it was too real for it too be that.

After about ten seconds Fury turned the electricity flow off. Machine was trembling slightly but he hadn’t cried at all. Fury continued trying to ask him questions but post electric shock Machine didn’t speak at all, so Fury tried the electricity again. He repeated the process until two hours passed. Machine had started screaming thirty minutes ago. 

“Mr Parker, are you ready to answer my questions now?” Fury asked, a minute after the shocks had stopped.

Machine rasped out breathes, sweating beaded up on his forehead. He tried to look around, as if he had forgotten they had taken his eyes out a while ago.

“I-I can’t see.” He spoke in a small voice.

“Mr. Parker?”

“Asset? Where is he? Asset where are you? I can’t see! And it-it hurts Asset! I-I can’t feel my legs! Help me, please! Asset!” Machine whimpered tears rolled down his cheeks, pulling at the cuffs. “I’m scared.”

“Alright Fury, I really think the kid has had enough. Even more so than when I ordered you to stop thirty minutes ago but you didn’t listen to me. Let’s just pack up, send him to Wakanda with an apology letter.” Tony said to Fury over the com as Machine slumped over in the chair. Probably having passed out from the pain.

“Like I said. I decide when we’re done, Stark. Bring in Barnes, maybe we’ll have more luck.”

“You’re late. Him and his crew left when the kid started screaming.”

“Then get them back in here! If that doesn’t work then we’ll knock him out with the electric shocks and put him in permanent cryo.” Fury spoke flippantly over the kid’s soft, laboured breaths and silently crying.

“No.” Clint spoke up.

“Excuse me?”

“Look at the kid, Fury! I think we can all agree we’ve done some fucked up shit but I’m not doing this. We’re not letting you put him in cryo.” Castle spoke up

“That is not up for discussion, Castle! We need this information, and we need this situation under control.”

“This is a kid, a human child, with feelings. You can’t just put him freeze him and sweep him off to the side when you don’t get what you want! Cause when he wakes up I can guarantee he’s gonna be a lot angeier. ”

“Who said we were gonna wake him up? If we don’t put him in cryo he’s guaranteed to remember his training and attack again.” Fury argued.

“Not if there’s someone that can actually help him work through it.”

“And do you see anyone here stepping up for that in a hundred mile radius? I don’t see the King of Wakanda exactly rushing to our aid. He’s already done us a favour, he has no obligation to help us again and we need to make sure a weapon of this capacity stays under lock and key and in American control.” Fury asks, scoffing.

“I’d do it.” Clint says, “He doesn’t belong sitting next to a bunch of freezie pops, and he sure as hell doesn’t need to be anywhere near you or in any foreign country at the moment.”

“So what, you’re just going to keep a dangerous soldier of HYDRA at your farm? The one that you begged me to keep off the records? You just have faith he’s not going to realize who he is and attack you, or worse your kids?”

“What if we just take this one chance? What if I take this one risk, and just let him be a kid? Instead of being a soldier?”

“Fine but that’s not blood on my hands!” Fury shouted, walking away, before he left he turned to Clint, a coldness in his eye. “But if this goes bad, I’m gonna send a team of SHIELD black operatives to clean this up, once and for all. No bargaining, no reasoning, just ending the problem. And then you can plan your kids funerals in quiet. Castle, you sit this one out, but remain on standby in case of any sudden realizations.”

The three men left all took a deep breath. Tony, stepping away from the intercoms. He’d have to cancel the preparation of the cryo-stasis chamber, and possibly call up Shuri to see what her input would be on the current situation would be. He’s almost certain she doesn’t have the technology to bring someone back to this capacity, but she might be good to bounce ideas off of.

In Steve’s room, at the compound, Buck was curled up in his bed on his side. Natasha was somewhere, but Steve sat next to him, running hands through his hair where he looked off elsewhere. He could tell Stevie wanted to ask him about it, while he sighed softly.

“What they did to him… it wasn’t right.” Stevie said. 

Of course it wasn’t right. It was disgusting, it made him feel sick, but they just let it happen. They tortured an innocent boy for information he didn’t really have, all because they thought he was a monster. He wasn’t a monster. They had no regard for a little boy’s humanity, which made them no better than the fuckers that killed his parents, that made him do bad things to survive. He needs to be helped.

“He needs help… I don’t trust them to give that to him. Not even Clint.” Bucky said, sitting up to look at Steve.

“I don’t either, Bucky, but I don’t know what to do about this one. If and when Fury goes off the deep end, if he hasn’t already, we need a plan to get the kid out of the country.”

 

“Where you thinking? Europe? Middle East?” 

“I’m thinking some place where Fury can’t just walk in and take over. He’s gonna have his agents all over this one, so we need somewhere he can’t so easily get to. You think T’Challa is good for one more favour?”

“Maybe. He seemed pretty thankful after that whole disappearing act we all did.”

“Well if it’s a disappearing act, you guys are gonna need some help getting off the grid.” Natasha said, appearing out of nowhere. “And someone to cover your tracks, because if Fury and friends find out about your little plan he’ll have every airport, border, and transportation system shut down from here to panama.” 

“Nat, I don’t know if you’d wanna get involved in this one. I’m sure we can all remember our collective disagreement, and I don’t wanna say this situation is gonna be a part two but that, might just be that.”

“This isn’t about anything other than what’s right and what’s wrong, and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep well for a while if that kid ends up frozen until the end of time because nobody knows how to fix him.” Natasha sighed, her arms crossed over his chest.

“Thank you Nat.” Bucky said, looking up at her.

“It’s no problem. For now, he should be fine. Castle, Barton, and Stark just tag teamed on Fury and got him to let the kid ride with Barton back to his farm. Until things go south, I’d lay low.” She said before walking out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do y'all feel about Peter's characterization so far? sound off in the comments


	6. The Set Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *notices a super powered teen in destress* uwu is this a child I can adopt?

Peter opens his eyes, and he is not in a place he recognizes. There are no white walls, or coats, or handlers, or Asset. Peter pushes himself up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed he was on. It was strangely soft, kinda squishy, it felt like what he’d imagine a cloud to be like. Those aren’t his legs. He stands, but he stumbles forward over some colorful blocks. He regains his balance after a moment. The last time he remembered he was not this tall, he was maybe a little shorter. How long had he been unconscious? He walks his way to the bathroom on unsturdy metal legs wondering, how he’d gotten here, and who took his legs.

The bathroom was clean, and bright. He squinted in the light. It reminded him of the experimentation room. He stood in front of a mirror. Was that him? His hair was brown, messy, and stuck to his face, his eyes were green, and his face was covered in a thick layer of grime. He turned the faucet handle and let water fill the sink for a moment, he covered his face in the cool liquid, washing away blood stains and dirt. He looked at himself again, remembering being dunked and drowned over and over again for his transgressions against HYDRA. He had markings over the sides of his face. Burns. Had they used The Chair on him? Were his legs taken as punishment for something he’d done, but was unable to remember? He looked different from the last time he’d seen himself. Taller. Bigger. Stronger.

He turns the faucet off, and he hears a voice summon him. He hears his name. He hears his real name. A name he’d almost forgotten he’d gone by since it was something no one ever said. Following the voice, he entered another room. This one had a table, but it was not made of metal, rather it was wood, and the man who’d summoned him sat at it. He took the seat adjacent to him, and the man sat a plate in front of him. Was this a test?

“You might wanna eat, you’ve got a long day ahead of you.” The man spoke, he did not look like HYDRA, but then again, neither did he.

“Eat?” He asked. Was that his voice, it didn’t sound it. It was deeper, it sounded like someone had taken his vocal chords and dragged them across asphalt. He didn’t doubt that was something one of the scientist would do to him. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” 

“For a test? I promise, I am good soldier, I am loyal.”

“No, that’s not why you’re here. You’re here because I believe you’re worthy of a second chance. A shot at a better life.” He sighed. “Now eat your pancakes, we gotta go get you some stuff.”

“Stuff? Weapons?”

“No stuff like clothes and shoes.”

“New uniforum?”

“That- no. Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Is Kid my new name?”

“No, your name is Peter Parker.”

“It’s usually Machine. Or Spider.”

“Okay. How about let’s start with Peter and work are way up to funky, kick-butt nicknames. I’m Clint, sometimes I’m Hawkeye, but you can just call me Clint. Now get eating, or else it’s gonna get cold.” Clint got up to do something and Peter shoved as much as the pancakes as he could in his mouth. “Woah, slow down buddy!” He laughed. Peter looked confused, slowly shoving the last bite in his mouth. “Nevermind.”

Clint took the empty plate from him and set it in the sink. “C’mere. I’m gonna show you how to wash dishes.” Peter got up, still struggling with the new legs. “You good?”

“Yes sir. I’m fine.” Peter answered, standing at Clint’s side over the sink.

“You can call me Clint, you know? Makes me feel less old.”

“Okay Clint, sir.” Peter nodded. Clint laughed, pulling Peter closer to the sink and handing him the plate he’d eaten off of.

“You know how to wash a dish, right?”

“...Yes.” He took it, staring into it for a minute. Syrup started to spill off and onto the floor.

“It’s okay if you don’t, you know that right?”

“Yes sir...”

“Here, gimme the plate.” Clint sighed, taking it from the younger boy. He’d obvious have a lot of work to do. Clint sets the plate aside, grabbing dish soap. “Okay, so you’re gonna wanna take this, and pour a little out on the plate.” He poured some on the plate, being over dramatic with his movements as to explain it better. Clint grabbed the sponge. “Then, you’re gonna wanna take this, and scrub it a bit, and then rinse it, yeah?”

Clint turned the water on and washed the soap off. Peter was a quiet observer, but Clint couldn’t get a read on how fast of a learner he was. He assumed he was a whiz-kid like Stark if he could read, write, and speak seventeen languages, but who really knows.

“I’ll show you more stuff when we get back. For now, how about we go and get you some cool shirts? Preferably, ones with me on them.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Again, it’s Clint, little buddy.”

“Yes Clint, sir.” Peter nodded while Clint led him out to the car.

Clint’s car was a tried and true mom car. To keep true to the theme, Clint took them to Target, where, hopefully, he could find a Hawkeye shirt for tortured teens. 

“So, what kind of shirts do you like?” Clint asked him, leading him through the men’s wear.

“I have no preference.” Peter shrugged, looking down towards the floor.

“Well, maybe we can just look through some stuff and you can just point if you want something yeah? You shouldn’t put your head down like that, you look like a sad puppy.”

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry sir.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for, buddy.” Clint frowned. 

Clint and Peter did laps around the shirts. Clint hadn’t found himself on any shirts but he found a tin-can man t-shirt so he shoved it in the cart begrudgingly. Peter looked just on the brink of tears at having to make a choice. He felt that if he made the wrong one his handler would jump from the racks and take him back to the chair for punishment, or worse, take him to the pit and make him fight again. He couldn’t even remember what they’d done to him last time. What if they’d gotten bigger like him? He was the smallest out of all of them after all. His hands quaked, feeling the fabric of an all white t-shirt.

“You like that one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Put it in the cart then, you don’t have to ask me.” Peter did as told. He slowly picking out more clothes, gingerly placing them in the cart, neatly folded. Clint just watched him as he moved like there was a red dot sitting on the center of his chest.

When they were done, they checked out, and headed off to elsewhere. The drive had been long-ish both ways, but Peter got to listen to music. He had been surprised by it at first. He’d never heard anything like this before, the closest thing he could remember was The Asset’s lullabies, and his case scientist’s whistles before injections, or tests. He missed the former a great deal more, but the memories sent him back to the injections, and curling up after coming back from the Pit.

Clint had brought Peter to a grocery store. Mostly because it was his turn to pick up groceries, but also to see what the kid would like. He followed him like a clumsy ghost, mostly cause he probably wasn’t used to the new, probably less superior legs. Guaranteed, if he had his old ones, Clint would freak out ever few minutes thinking he’d lost him because he’d turned a corner a little slower than he had.

They passed by a free samples man, who caught Peter by the shoulder, trying to hand him some fudge brownie.

“Hey son, would you like a free sample?” He asked, an inhuman smile on his awkward lips.

Peter looked to Clint, fear in his eyes. Did he deny or accept? Was it poisoned? Was this a test? 

“He would.” Clint answered for him. Peter took the brownie on a stick from the man with caution. Maybe it was a trap, and he really was defected from HYDRA and it was really poisoned.

“It’s just candy, bud. You never had any before?”

“No Clint, sir.”

“Ah, you’re gonna love it. Go ahead and eat it now!” Clint encouraged him, placing a firm, but gentle hand on the younger (technically older by three years,) man. Peter did so with caution, taking a small bite at first.

It was like he’d been in the dark his entire life and he’d only now just opened his eyes. And the world was made out of glitter and unicorns fucking magical flying cats that shat rainbows. The shoved the rest in his mouth faster than Clint could say “yeehaw, ride em robots!” Which made Clint a tad bit concerned with whether or not he was doing any breathing or not as he wolfed the brownie down and proceeded to trot back and ask for more. The man must’ve assumed he’d served in Iraq despite the fact he looked too young toor something due to the legs because he let him have at least five more free samples. Clint had to drag him off to finish off shopping.

“I’m sorry sir.” Peter said after a little while, just the tad bit of a sniffle at the end of his apology.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t apologize, you’re fine. We can get some for the house if you want but we gotta learn moderation here, bud.”

“Moderation?”

“Yeah, like having a little bit over the course of a little while instead of all at once. All at once is a good way to get an upset stomach.”

“Okay sir.” Peter nodded and they went to finish up their shopping.

They go home afterwards, and Clint shows Peter where to put stuff around the kitchen, and then he lets him go back to his room.

Clint had decided to tell Laura to keep the kids busy for the day, so Peter could get acclimated just a bit with him first before there was other people. Loud other people, who were often just a tad inconsiderate with personal space. They of course would have to learn quickly, Clint didn’t know what he’d do if Peter were to have an outburst. Clint had seen what he’d done to Maria and Natasha, he’d gotten the least of it but even still he looked like shit and had a hole in his shoulder. Though, Clint wouldn’t let his fear overcome the fact that this was a fourteen-ish year old kid out of his time by a few decades, give or take, that needed someone’s help. He’d be damned to hell if Peter didn’t get that help.

Clint wondered how Bucky felt. Or Steve felt, for that matter, about this whole situation. He wondered if Bucky wanted to take Peter. Clint knew that Bucky wasn’t exactly dealing with his PTSD, more so ignoring it for the sake of others, or at least that was his read on him. He was obviously suppressing memories that he shouldn’t be, so maybe seeing Peter would be a wake up call for him. Or maybe he would have pushed the boy away, just like the memories of him he must have had somewhere in the depths of his mind. Maybe he would be comfortable with pushing him there. Clint didn’t know, it was a little harder to read him than most. Mostly cause he wasn’t was around as much.

Clint knew a few things about life, one thing he knew was that little kids don’t belong in freezers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the kids just a little older than they are in Ultron because Big Brother Beter Barker is Good. Do you guys like what I'm doing with Clint and Peter so far? Cause there's gonna be a lot more of whatever I just wrote up there :/


	7. What a Family is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> backyardidgians but it's a pair of sweet boys

At the asscrack of dawn is when Peter’s eyes were forced open. Strong hands wrapped around his shoulders, too close too his throat for comfort. When was he comfortable? Never, just way too uncomfortable. 

“Hey, hey, hey, bud, it’s me.”

It’s Clint. Peter relaxed.

“We’re gonna go do some yard work today, okay buddy?”

“Yes Clint, sir.” Peter nodded, not knowing what the hell yard work was, but he feared he’d already asked to many questions already.

“Go ahead and get dressed then bud, I’ll make you some breakfast and then I can show you what you gotta do.” Peter nodded once more and watched Clint leave the room. 

Peter moved the warm sheets off of himself, standing up slowly. Being careful of the colorful bricks that often obstructed his path. He didn’t want to move them in case it was pertinent that they stay in the exact spot that they are. Passing through the bathroom, he wondered what they’d done to him. HYDRA. Maybe they had taken his legs from him, changed his humanity and made him some sort of weirdo, but else had they changed about him? He didn’t know, maybe he wouldn’t ever figure out. He probably wouldn’t at this point. The only thing he wanted to know, was if Asset was okay.

Peter sat at the table, just like the day prior. Same seat and everything, while Clint was busy cooking up breakfast. Out the large windows Peter could see the world outside, still dark, absent of its springing life, but he could see a sliver of the pink and orange of the ever arising day. He thought it looked pretty, better than the cinderblock and the cell bars. Clint took him away from the sunrise, sliding a hot plate under his nose. Clint sat at the seat he did yesterday too. They ate quietly after Peter thanked him, in his soft, monotone way of speaking.

“My wife and my kids are coming back home later today.” Clint said, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Peter tried to speak, his mouth stuffed with all the food of his plate.

“Oh, I was just telling you that my family was coming home later. Just figured you’d want the heads up there’s gonna be a couple more people running around here then yesterday.” Clint explained nonchalantly, taking his time to eat the breakfast he’d made. Clint was glad though that at least someone liked his cooking other than himself.

“Clint, sir, I have a question.”

“Yeah, bud?”

“What’s a family?”

Clint’s heart dropped in his chest, looking over to see two giant sacramento pools reflecting him, but filled with confusion. Of course he couldn’t possibly have ever known what a family was, he never even got the chance to have one. His only living relative was an aunt, whom he’d never met. He took a deep breath and looked back into those artificial eyes.

“A family is a group of people that are loyal to each other no matter what, they want to see you happy, and always try to do what’s best for you.”

“So HYDRA my family?”

“No. They don’t care about you. All they ever did was use you for their own gain, and that’s not what family is.”

“Do I have a family?”

“Everyone has family, Peter.”

“Where are they?”

“In New York.”

“Can I see them?”

“One day, if I play my cards right.” Clint said with a sigh, standing up and taking his and Peter’s empty plates, putting them in the sink for later. “Alright we gotta get movin bud, we're burning daylight we can talk more while we work okay?”

“Yes, Clint, sir.”

Clint led Peter out into the yard, the sun peeking above the horizon making the sky light up with vibrant oranges. Clint handed Peter a pair of sheers, preparing a short explanation while Peter examined the scissors on steroids.

“You can climb pretty good, right buddy?”

“Yes, sir. I am Spider.”

“You’re a human, but here, what you’re gonna wanna do is climb up there and cut down some of the branches so that way the tree doesn’t grow too much.”

“Yes, Clint, sir.” Peter nodded and scaled the tree in under a few seconds. 

Clint watched as Peter weaved through the tree branches easily, cutting down twigs until the tree had no more leaves. Peter jumped down into the pile of green, his bargain bin metal legs groaning when he straightened himself out from the fall.

“Woah, buddy, another fall like that and you just might need a new pair of legs.”

“I’m sorry sir, I won’t do it again.” Peter spoke softly, head down.

“There’s nothing to apologize for buddy. How about we go do something else for now yeah? Right now it just kinda looks like fall came early.”

“Cause I fell?”

“No, the leaves, but that works too, yeah.” Clint laughed a little.

Clint showed Peter the lawn mower while he got a bag for the leaves. He wouldn’t throw them away, but he’d save them to put in the compost later. He’d probably have to chop that tree down since it actually has no more leaves, but he wasn’t too mad about that. As he stuffed the bag with leaves, out of the corner of his eye he watched Peter accidently rip the chord to the lawn mower off. He sighed, curse you HYDRA, and your funky little super soldier serums. He put down the bag and went to go see what was going on. Peter instantly looked like a kicked puppy as Clint stood next to him. Not even towering over Peter, since the kid was surprisingly lanky.

“I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to disappoint you twice, I deserve punishment.” Peter sniffled a little, refusing to look in any direction that would be in his vicinity. He curled in on himself as much as he could without falling over.

“I’m not going to punish you for you making a mistake. That’s not how things work here, this isn’t HYDRA, this is your new home.” Clint sighed, trying to put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to comfort him, but the kid flinched away, almost toppling over onto the floor. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Peter whimpered, wiping at his face.

“It’s okay to cry, Peter.”

“No!”

“Look at me, Peter.” Clint ordered, and Peter shot up on command, standing straight and looking forward. He almost looked like a soldier, but the one stroke of a tear gave him away. Clint felt deflated, but not defeated. “You’re not there anymore, and this isn’t a test. We’re gonna fix the lawn mower, and we’re gonna talk, yeah?”

Peter didn’t give a verbal response, just silently nodding. Clint brought him a juice box from the fridge inside the garage, along with his tools. Peter sipped on it silently, sitting on a stool, watching Clint as he worked on the lawn mower. 

“So, you said you knew Bucky, right?”

“Who?”

“Bucky, the guy with the metal arm, you know him don’t you?”

“Asset?” Peter stood, casting the apple juice aside, his sacremento eyes, wide and attentive on Clint. Almost as if he were expecting The Asset to walk out the field and take him back home. Peter would be fine with that, as long as he got to see him again. Without him, he had nothing, and he was lost, and weak, without direction.

“He’s not here right now buddy, he’s got work to do, but maybe if you can keep your nose clean, ya know, do good in school, work hard and all that jazz, I might be able to pull a couple strings and you two can hang out.”

“Hang out?”

“Ya’know, get milkshakes, watch football. Do whatever a couple of frozen people do.”

 

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Oh. Yeah. You’re gonna love milkshakes, bud.”

After a while of working on the lawn mower, a fly starts buzzing about their, mostly Clint’s space, he throws a stick at it, smushing it on the wall while the stick fell to the ground.

“Woah. You’re good.” Peter commented, straw still in his mouth.

“Thanks. You’re not too shabby either.” Clint said mindlessly, his shoulder aching under his bandages.

“I’m not?”

“Yeah.”

When Clint gets it fixed, after a few helpful suggestions from Peter, Clint shows him how to work it without breaking it. They eventually ended up getting all the yard work done right before Laura and the kids came home, and Clint’s attention was shifted away from Peter, who was bombarded by small, prodding hands. Laura and Clint had a discussion.

Laura stood where she could see the kids, and more importantly, the stranger in her house, who hadn’t spoken above a whisper in more than a sentence fragment in the time that they had gotten back. To say she was concerned about this situation she’d found herself in was an understatement, but Clint seemed as though he thought nothing would go wrong.

“Why’re we housing the world’s most dangerous assassin again?” Laura asked in a hushed tone, unable to not look at the thin, but surprisingly tall boy, who was being handed Legos and dolls.

“Because he has nowhere else to go.”

“Couldn’t someone else taken him? Someone with less to lose?” Laura sighed, a small frown on her face as she shot glances at their three kids, far too young to be able to defend themselves. 

“I didn’t wait to find out. He needed help, and I wasn’t too sure if Bucky was willing to open his arms to him just yet.”

“Why not? You were saying that they knew each other right? And him and Steve don’t have any kids… or pets.”

“He’s not dealing with his PTSD, I can tell, and seeing him would force him to deal with that, and that might not be the best thing for either of them. For right now, Peter doesn’t really seem to remember much of what happened.”

“So we’re just banking on him not remembering who he is?”

“If you want to put it like that then sure. I’m trying to force out most of what they put in his head right now, so what when he does remember he doesn’t lash out at anyone.”

“You’re sure that that’s going to work?”

“Here's to hoping.” Clint smiled at his wife, bringing her in for a soft kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one comment = one Clint giving Peter a hug 
> 
> also would you guys like it if I posted every Monday Wednesday and Friday or just Monday and Friday?


	8. The Big Lie

Time passed, and Peter slowly got used to tiny hands and excited voices, without automatically curling up to defend himself. Clint even trusted him to take care of them all by himself one time for a whole full hour. The younger kids often asked him questions, and followed him everywhere, short of the bathroom. He could tell Laura was apprehensive about him, but he couldn’t understand why, when she tried to keep the smaller children away from him and avoided talking to him. He wondered if he’d done something wrong. He wondered how long it would be until she took him to some mysterious part of the house, that would really be just a chamber of HYDRA, with his case scientist sitting there, smiling as usual, and ready for his handler to punish him for his transgressions.

He wished he didn’t think like that about Laura. She was very nice to her children, who were nice to him. He slept in the same room as Cooper, and Cooper shared his colorful blocks that were used to build things, which were called Legos. Peter just wanted Laura to not stare at him with disdain all the time. Peter liked her much better when he watched her when she was focused on other things, like when she was gardening, or when she was sleeping. She was very peaceful then, at ease. He wished he didn’t cause her unrest, but he couldn’t understand why he did in the first place. He always took his shoes off before climbing on the walls like Clint had asked, and he let Nathaniel pull his hair without evening tearing up.

He sometimes overheard them, Clint and Laura talking about him. Something about remembering something, but he didn’t know what he was suppose to remember. Maybe it was something to do with his legs? It was hard to tell when no one tells him anything about it, and he had to rely on what he hears from across a hall or outside a door when he was supposed to be sleeping, but he never sleeps. Sometimes, he closes his eyes and rests, sometimes he passes out, but he doesn’t sleep. Peter can’t remember why he doesn’t sleep.

Today, he was pushed into opening his eyes early by Clint once again. For the past week he’d been trying to get him excited about something called school. He didn’t know too much about it. Peter was still afraid of asking too many questions and getting punished still. You can never tell who was HYDRA and who isn’t, not when sometimes they smile, or they laugh, or they treat you nice by letting you eat even though you are at the bottom of the program, and are being punished for it. Clint and Laura sat around the table eating breakfast, since it was too early for the younger kids to get up.

“You excited about your first day at school?” Clint asked, ruffling his hair when he walked past him.

“A quick question, Clint, sir?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“What’s school?” 

“It’s a place where you get to learn stuff, and meet a bunch of people.”

“Like Program?”

“What’s that?” Clint asked, his brows furrowed as he took a seat, drinking out of the coffee pot, much to his wife’s dismay.

“It’s where they test your skills to see how you rank against your peers. Sometimes you have to fight, other times you have to take apart and put back a gun, or you gotta read a bunch of languages right. I always failed the first test, though. ”

“It’ll be nothing like that. Guns and fighting aren’t allowed in school You can make some friends, it’ll be fun. If something, or someone bothers you just go to the front office and ask them to call me, okay?”

“Okay.” Peter nodded, taking his finished plate to the sink and grabbed the bag Clint had gotten him earlier in the week. It was heavy with school supplies. 

Clint kissed his wife goodbye, who locked eyes with the younger boy for a moment. Fear and scorn is what he saw, but Clint did not, or he chose to ignore it, so he said nothing and drove Peter to the local high school. In the car, they went over what he was supposed to tell people when they asked him questions, and what he could not, under any circumstances talk about.

“But isn’t lying bad?” Peter had asked, looking at Clint confused. Lying had always been bad. Asset didn’t like it, HYDRA didn’t like it, and Clint didn’t either. He’d found this out earlier in the week when Cooper stole his hearing aids as a prank. Clint had been enraged, and had “grounded” him for the time being. Peter didn’t know what kind of punishment that was, but he certainly did not want to receive it, so he had decided he wouldn’t lie. Now, he was being told to lie.

“Sometimes lying can be okay, as long as you’re protecting someone. Right now, you’re protecting yourself.”

“Okay.”

“Remember, you were born in New York, but you were raised in Romania, and you were recently adopted by me. And you can’t climb any walls. Have a good first day, okay buddy?”

“Yes Clint, sir.” Peter nodded, and climbed out of the car and walked into the red building where other nameless faces were filing into.

Despite the constant accidental touching, Peter made it into the front office fine. In the office there were pictures with motivation words on them hung everywhere, an older woman with white hair and long, painted nails sitting at a desk, and a boy who was also sitting, but not at a desk.

“Oh, you must be the new student!” The older woman announced to her empty audience. “Peter… Barton? Right?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s your schedule, sweetie. I’m Miss Willis, if you need anything at all you just come to me.” She handed him a paper that had numbers and names listed in order of the listed time. “That boy over there has been waiting all week to be able to show you around.” 

Peter turned toward him. He was on the heavier side, with medium length black hair, he was also Filipino, and wore a t-shirt advertising something Peter didn’t recognize. 

“Hey! Uh… my name is Ned! I’m gonna be showing you around school until you get where everything is!” He extended a hand, Peter just looked at it, not knowing what to do with it. He ended up putting his hand down, not bothering to explain himself, but he turned a scarlet shade in his cheeks.

“Okay.”

“You boys have fun!” The lady called as Ned showed him out of the front office.

“So… what’s your schedule?” Ned asked him, face still bright red as Peter handed over the slip of paper. “Oh hey! We have pretty similar schedules, so we’ll be in a bunch of classes together. This is gonna be awesome!” 

Peter nodded, unsure of how to respond to Ned. He opted to follow him around quietly until Ned would break the silence with rambling.

“So… where are you from?”

“Romania.”

“Oh! That’s cool! Do you speak Russian?”

“Я не знаю, почему я могу это сказать.” 

“I don’t even know what you just said but that’s so badass! You’re like, the coolest person that’s ever willingly talked to me! Am I weirding you out? I’m sorry.”

“You are fine.”

“Do they have Star Wars in Romania?”

“What’s a Star War?”

“Oh man! It’s this movie series that’s super old but really, really good! You should come over to my house sometime so that way we can watch them! There’s a bunch of them though so I’d probably have to buy a bunch of popcorn.”

“That sounds nice.”

“God, this is so cool. My mom is never gonna believe that I made another friend!”

“Friend?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to assume that you wanted to be friends too. Though, it would be super cool if we were like, besties and had a secret language and went out to angst in public parks! But you don’t have to come over to watch Star Wars with me. You don’t even have to let me show you around the school, you could probably get someone else to do it, since you look like you’re straight out of one of those teenage high school romance movies where the main character’s love interest is a badass and wears a bunch of leather and is a total hunk and rides a motorcycle, except you’re the bad boy character and I’m the background character that no one really cares about.”

“Thank you?” Peter raises a brow, looking over the very anxious boy who was much shorter than he was. “I would enjoy being friends very much, and I need to find out what a Star War is and where my first “class” is.”

“Oh yeah.” Ned flushed red once more and proceeded to show him around the older school building.

Peter tailed behind Ned, his friend, for the entirety of the day listening to him talk, or rant rather, about just anything in particular. Peter discovered Ned also enjoyed Legos too, but he said that his mom won’t buy him anymore since they’re for children younger than they were. The comment made Peter wonder how old he was, and the harder he thought about it, the more he realized how little he knew about himself. What even was his favorite color? Ned enjoys the color mint because he likes green and blue both too much too be able to decide between them. Ned’s other friend MJ said she likes black but her nails were all a dark purple shade and so was the makeup she lined her hazel eyes with so he could make his own deductions about that.

He just wanted to know who he was, because everyone else around him seems to have it figured it out. Ned claimed to be a nerd in all aspects of the word, MJ claimed to be observant, and an activist. Peter claimed nothing but lies, like being from Romania. He doesn’t even know where Romania is on a map! And he knows he isn’t Peter B. Barton, not that he knew anything that refuted that, it’s just that it sounds wrong. Like, how wrong the metal legs he had to wear felt as he moved about the world. Or, the perpetual sting in the back of his neck that told him something was coming for him, but nothing ever coming.

They all had eaten lunch together at the only empty table. Ned continued on his ramblings and asking what Romania was like, Peter having to dodge his way out of direct answers in order to not look like he completely didn’t know what he was talking about. MJ, the only other person at the table other than him and Ned, looked to have suspicions about him though. She asked him questions sometimes too, in between reading paragraphs out of her forearm wide book. He wondered what it was about. 

At the end of the day, yellow giant cars picked up masses of students and turned to drive them off. Peter wondered if all the students lived together like he had with all the other kids back Home. Ned stayed with him, waiting on the edge of the sidewalk for his mom while he waited for Clint. After a few minutes, not too many people were left. A boy and his gang approached them.

“Well, look at what we got here!” The bigger boy who led the pack of older kids behind him called out to no one in particular, other than his troop. Other kids looked over at them or tried to pretend whatever was happening wasn't. “It seems that Leeds finally got a boyfriend!” There was snickers throughout the group.

“Lay off, Flash.” Ned said with a defeated tone, head hung down in upset. He almost curled in on himself.

“No way. We gotta meet the new kid! What’s your name?”

“Peter Barton. I’m from Romania.”

“Oh, a foreigner, aye? Welcome to the country, twerp, but this is America, and over here we got a way of dealing with dirty commies like you.” The boy, Flash, made a gross smile and laughed. Peter just store down at him coldy. 

“Peter, c’mon let’s just go-” Ned spoke softly, looking between Peter and the boys, the both of them very logically outnumbered. It was dangerous to stand up to them and Ned really would prefer if his friend did not die before he got to watch Star Wars with him.

“No.”

“Aw, look at that! Isn’t that cute, a couple of fags in love!” There was a few more laughs. 

Peter ripped his wrist from Ned’s hand. He got in Flash’s face so that way they were almost nose to nose. Peter could already smell the bigger boy’s breath but now that he was so close it was almost putrid, but he stayed put, refusing to move despite this fact. Peter could feel a memory seeping in, but he swept it aside in favor of picking his opponent apart, piece by piece from the outside in. Flash broke the contest of will by grabbing Peter by his collar.

“Listen here, twerp-” Flash started, jostling his shoulder as he held him barely an inch off the ground. His metal legs groaning from the gravity of their own weight. Clint’s car rolled up and Flash dropped him back to the ground. “We’ll finish this conversation tomorrow.”

Peter grabbed Ned by the wrist and pulled him along to the car, not bothering to look back at the bullies. They both climbed into the backseat. Peter hadn’t asked, he knew that is was wrong but the bite on the back of his neck told him he couldn’t just leave his friend to deal with them alone. He hoped he wouldn’t get “grounded” for shoving Ned into the car with him, but he would accept it if it came his way.

“Hey buddy!” Clint said, looking at Peter and his friend in the rearview mirror. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ned Leeds, sir.” Peter spoke for him. Ned’s jaw dropped, seeing Clint-fucking-Barton’s face in the mirror staring at him as they drove away from Flash and his crew. His new friend is seriously the most badass person that’s probably ever lived.

“Oh my god. You’re Hawkeye.” Ned blurted out of shock. Peter looked at him funny. “My new friends dad is Hawkeye.”

“I’m adopted.”

“Adopted dad. Wow. Um, you’re like, my favourite Avenger, Mr. Hawkeye sir.”

“I’ve never heard that one before. Thanks, kiddo, don’t let Stark hear that though, he’ll bribe your mom into grounding you for the rest of your life for that one.”

“Geez, this is so cool.”

“Ned, right?”

“Um, yes, Mr. Hawkeye, sir.”

“You can call me Clint, kid. Peter over here is just persistent on formalities. Where do you live? I’ll drop you off.”

“Oh! I live on Canvey Street.”

Clint nodded silently, and rode up to Ned’s street, dropping him off in front of his house. Ned climbed out of the car after saying goodbye, running up to his house and inside after unlocking the front door. It slammed shut behind him and Clint took off, driving back in the direction of his house.

“So,” Clint spoke after a while, breaking the silence that there hadn’t been with Ned in the car. “Wanna tell me what that was about, buddy?”

“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again.”

“No, buddy, it’s fine. I don’t mind driving your little friends home, but do you wanna tell me why that other kid was pushing you around.”

“Flash is his name.”

“And what? Is he your new bully or something?”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

“A bully is a person that says or does mean things to you that make you feel not too good.”

“Oh. I think he bullies Ned. Ned seemed afraid and submissive in his presence. Neither of them liked it when I stood up so he wouldn’t be in Ned’s face.”

“Well… it’s good to stand up for your friends. I’m sure he appreciates it a lot, but if this Flash guy tries to hurt you or him just run away, okay? Just get help from one of the teachers. If you fight back then you’ll be the one getting in trouble, not him.”

“Yes, sir.” Peter nodded solemnly. He remembered silently the times that Asset had done the same for him, only to receive beratement and The Chair. Peter just wants Asset back, because this whole world was scary and weird and things made sense back Home. Peter just wants to go Home.

When they got home, Peter didn’t have any homework to do, as it was his first day, and the younger kids were not around, so he and Clint sat up on the couch, watching a movie on the history channel about some Captain America guy. Clint offered to change it, as it was saturated with mentions of HYDRA, but Peter waved him off. He found himself infatuated with the way it told the past and Peter honestly thought that maybe what they were saying about HYDRA sounded a bit bad, kinda. At the very end, it played some sort of video of the guy himself, talking about bullies, how it was important to stand up to them, and to stand up for others, and something clicked inside of Peter’s head for some reason.

“Y’know, I work with the guy, and he's like that in real life.” Clint said as a commercial started to play instead of the documentary. Peter only nodded in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me what you thought in the comments. one comment = 1 flash getting punched in the face for being a big ol bitch


	9. Red Light Green Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for your amazing response to this so far I didn't expect this to be so well received also drop a comment at the end of this chapter if you want me to keep posting on Wednesdays

Peter quickly adapted to school life, completing assignments with relative ease. He’d always been perfect in all of the written or read portions of Program, and he found himself almost enjoying the work. He even helped Ned understand some of his work too. MJ didn’t need help, but he caught her, out of the corner of his eye, looking at him as he helped Ned.

One day, Ned hadn’t shown up to school. Now, Peter had memorized the placements of his classes the first day, but he let Ned show him everyday because he enjoyed his company, and it was odd to lack his presence. It was almost like he felt naked without him to follow around in relative silence while the other rambled on about almost unimportant things. But they were important to Ned though, so they were very important actually. 

Peter still sat in his spot at their table, but MJ made an effort to sit just a bit closer to him. Perhaps understanding his discomfort and concern for Ned not being around, MJ spoke.

“He’s sick today. He’s coming in tomorrow, though.” MJ had said to him, offering him a headphone in silence. Peter slipped it into his ear, enjoying the experience of hearing new music again, with his new friend.

Two weeks into the future is when it happened, and it wasn’t even after school. Peter was coming through the halls, to meet Ned like he always did, only to see Flash and his crew hovering over his friend. Peter approached them, and Flash loosened his grip on Ned that kept his shoulders slammed into the lockers.

“Oh, look, it’s the other commie! I hope you’re ready to get your shit rocked instead of having your daddy come in and hide you.” Flash sneered, turning toward him.

“I was never hiding.” Peter shrugged, his hands in his pocket, and his things for his class long since forgotten. Flash huffed angrily and took his fist to Peter’s face.

People encased them into a circle as Flash threw hit after hit on Peter. Peter could hear Ned’s voice, calling out for him to run away, to leave, or do something. But he couldn’t do anything, so Flash kept punching him in the face. And hit after hit, Peter did nothing at all. Not evening stumbling back from his blows, because they simply weren’t powerful enough. 

Peter could feel something bubbling within him, and he was afraid of it, as Flash tried to knock him onto the ground, but failed. Clint had told him to not fight back. Clint had told him to go get help. Peter tried to do those, but he couldn’t even move a muscle. Because, Peter wasn’t in control of his body.

In a split second, Peter remembers something. It doesn’t make any sense, and he doesn’t have any time to make sense of it as Flash sends a powerful blow into the side of his face, knocking one of his eyes out of his skull. There’s silence, even Flash himself stands there, in awe of the mess of wires in place of the optic nerve. There’s a deep voice that escapes his lips that isn’t his own.

“My turn.”

He did something bad. That’s all Peter knows. Because the last thing that he remembers is pushing his eye back into his head standing over Flash’s bludgeoned body, and running down to the front office where the nice lady was, to call Clint to get him. His hands shook, as the blood covering them dried up.

Clint came to get him. He helped him get into the car in silence. They didn’t even put on the radio, and Peter knew he was in trouble. He went against direct orders, and he deserved his punishment. Peter didn’t even know how he did that to Flash. Was that even him? Memories of being beat and pushed around in The Pit filled his head, and he hadn’t ever won, right? So maybe it wasn’t him who almost killed Flash, but he knew that was wrong. Maybe… maybe Peter had won. Once.

Peter closed his eyes and behind them he saw, instead of the darkness of a closed world he saw pictures. Peter could feel searing pain in the legs he did not have, finally remembering what happened to them.

Failing again. It was always what he did, but this time he’d done it fabulously. Assets were watching from outside The Pit. Everyone hung their head in shame at his performance but held such pride for the others. The handlers had called for the Machines to return to the cells, but they hadn’t stopped pumelling him. Fits and feet meeting all over his body. The handlers were all ready to call for preparations of the reset rooms but their managers tod them to hold off for the moment. Maybe this release was good for them. Though, that order was waved away as he remembered the first tug on his leg, and then the next, and soon the bigger kids were holding him down while the biggest Machine tore his legs off. 

Peter opened his eyes with a deep breath in. Clint looked at him from the corner of his eye but Peter didn’t care too much. Clint was going to send him back there. Clint was going to send him back Home because he’d disobed, and he’d never see the light of day again. Peter wanted to go home to see Asset, not to be beaten, or torn apart again, but that’s what was going to happen.

Peter closed his eyes again and kept them there until they got back to Clint’s house, because that was never meant to be a place for him to be anyways, he was just an intruder. His place was a Machine, even if he was a low and poor functioning excuse for one. Peter kept trying to remember stuff like he just had a moment ago, but nothing really hit him. Only scattered images of the only person that cared for him truly, and The Pit. Standing over someone inside of it, The Pit, with a pair of metal legs underneath him, a distant but calculated look in the stoic man he favoured above all others staring him down, a gun in his hands in a deep forested area, Asset only trailing behind him. None of these images made sense, and they probably never would because he would soon forget it all, but he didn’t even really know how he’d forget it, just like how he didn’t know Russian but could speak it fluently. Maybe he’d learned it in Program. That was it. Program. 

The car lurched forward as they parked in front of Clint’s house. Maybe his wife would be home, so she could finally have her reason to hate Peter. She deserved that, reasoning for her feelings before he disappeared back Home where he’d be ripped to shreds by a handler with a grin while Asset stood, not helping, but that wasn’t his fault. He was a good soldier and that was simply what he wasn’t purposed for. Peter climbed out of the car door, and followed an angered Clint inside. Maybe Clint was his new handler? Maybe Clint already had the water till and the Chair ready for him.

Clint ordered for him to sit on the toilet lid in the bathroom and that’s exactly what he did. He would do anything to lessen the punishment coming his way, but it wouldn’t go away even if he brought back Johan from the dead and conquered the world for him to rule. Peter hung his head in shame of himself just like everyone else did. Was Peter even his name? Or was it Machine #7? Or The Spider? Does it matter even if it’s not? Probably not.

Clint ran his hands through the medicine cabinet, searching for something, finding it quickly though he kneeled in front of Peter. Taking the younger boys hands in his. Peter looked up, in shock from the lack of pain radiating throughout his veins. Clint quietly cleaned the boy’s hands of blood, wrapping them as carefully as he could, as to not hurt him anymore than he had to.

“This looks bad.” Clint said, referring to Peter’s blackened eye that had been popped out like a button off a shirt owned by doctor banner. Instead of it being it’s usual dark, rich green color, the eye was stuck flashing a glowing red. “Does it hurt too much?”

“No, sir.” Peter shook his head, refusing to meet his eyes even though Clint was analysing him up close. He could hear the blood pumping through the veins in Clint’s neck.

“Y’know, Peter, you really are a trip. So what’s the story here, huh?”

“There is no excuse for disobedience, I deserve everything you do.”

“Peter, I swear to fucking god I’m not going to try and hurt you, Jesus Christ!” Clint exclaimed, causing Peter to jump back in fear. “I’m sorry,” Clint spoke, looking defeated for the first time since Peter had met him, really. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Can I tell you a secret? That you can’t tell anyone else?”

“Of course, sir. I have no friends to tell them to.”

“Well you got Ned, right? That little asian dude?”

“He’s Filipino, and I don’t think that’ll stand after he founds out he’s been lied to the entirety of our friendship.”

“I dunno too much about that. Do you promise?”

“Of course Clint, sir.”

“Interlock your pinky with mine so that way I know it’s true.”

Peter did as asked, looking down at Clint, confused, but the shell of a smile on his face. “I don’t understand the point of this ritual.”

“It’s like a bind on the promise, and if you break a pinky promise then you’re just the worst person on earth.” Clint shrugged, moving his finger away from Pete’s after a few seconds.

“I don’t think I need to break a pink promise to be such a thing.” Peter sighed.

“Hey, don’t think about yourself like that buddy. That’s a really deep, dark, hole you don’t wanna go down. Trust me.”

“Of course, Clint, sir. You had something to tell to tell me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Clint laughed sadly, rubbing his eyes gently. “That.” Clint procrastinated a bit, but looked over, back towards Peter and took in a shaky breath, still holding one of the teenage boy’s hands. “When I was a lot younger, my old man used to hit me. He’d beat me, or my older brother, or my our ma till we were black n’ blue. I’m telling you this cause I want you to know that I’d never do that to you, and I know you got some pretty justified trust issues over there, but I need you to know the whole reason you’re here with me instead of god knows where is because I don’t wanna see another kid getting messed up for no reason then someone else’s personality defects. Okay?”

“Okay, sir.” 

“Now, that Flash kid, he got the first punch in, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what else happened? He was threatening Ned?”

“Yes, sir. Him and his friends were going to beat up Ned in the hallway. I stepped in.”

“What happened after that? Ned was getting pushed around, you stepped in, took the hit for him, and you beat him back?”

“I-I don’t know Clint, sir.”

“C’mon buddy, you have to help me out here. The more I know the less likely you are to get in trouble with someone you really don’t want to be.”

“Sir, I don’t remember anything else other than standing over him. He hit me a bunch though first, and he was all bloody and stuff. I don’t know if that was me, I think I did it but wouldn’t I remember it? Or something like that…?”

“So you have selective memory?” Clint asked Peter, wondering what all the boy could remember.

“I suppose so? I don’t really know, sir.”

“Okay… when did we first meet?”

“When I sat down at the table, inside the kitchen, sir.” Peter answered, confused as to the point of the questioning.

“Okay. Good.” Clint nodded, checking his watch for the time. “I need you to do something for me, and it’s really important, okay?”

“Of course sir, what is it?”

“I need you to go to you and Cooper’s room, and I need you to stay there until I come for you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good, c’mere buddy.” Clint said, extending his arms in a wide stance. “You’re supposed to lean into it. It’s called a hug.” Peter leaned into it, his arms still at his side while Clint’s arms wrapped around his sides carefully. He felt warm, calm, almost. Like he was Home and Asset was lying asleep with him in the rumbling of night. It ended quickly. 

“What is a hug for?”

“Hugs are for people you really care about, to show you’re there for them.” Peter nodded in confirmation, it was nice. “Now, go and head up to your room for me buddy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Peter did as told and sat up on his bed, waiting for Clint to come for him, but he listened closely, playing with Cooper’s legos. Peter built a tiny yellow house. He could hear new footsteps, heavier ones, dog tags, and guns. And yelling. There’s a man downstairs, and he and Clint were getting into a screaming match. This is all his fault.

“It was an accident!” Clint yelled in Fury’s direction. He wasn’t director of anything anymore, so he shouldn’t have the ability to make this call, but he was doing it anyways. “He and his friend were getting bullied and beat up! He didn’t mean to hit him so hard he broke some bones! He wasn’t even in control of his own body!”

“And that’s my problem how? I told you he had one chance, and in that one chance he proved that he is a danger to society. He needs to go on ice until further notice, and for your information,“going on ice” does not mean instantaneous death, Agent Barton.”

“He’s still just a fucking kid, Fury! Given… more time… maybe he could learn some more control! Up until the kid that he messed up a little, started beating him until his eye came out of his skull, he was doing perfect! He has friends! He does his homework! He doesn’t take a lot of showers, but he’s doing his best! He just needs more time!”

“Well you don’t have anymore time, Barton! This isn’t just that one kid who was a bit of a bully’s issue. This is an issue of national security and I couldn’t give less of a rat’s ass that it’s a kid. His case will get passed around and he’ll get some help. I’ll even make sure he doesn’t get freezer burn myself. Now go get Parker and bring him down here, and try and keep him as calm as possible. I wouldn’t want to have to cut his time so short.”

Clint sighed in defeat. He hadn’t been in contact with Natasha, so he had no easy way out of this, and Fury was right. He, and Peter, were out of time. He just wanted to make this easy on the kid. Clint had gotten used to having him around, too. At least Laura would finally be happy. He saw how much she irrationally disliked this kid he’d come to think of as a son. He just hoped Peter hadn’t, and had at least had fun for the few months he was allowed to be a kid.

Clint went up to his two boy’s bedroom, knocking on the door first. “Peter?” He called out to no answer. Opening the door, he saw a little yellow house sitting on the floor, the rest of the legos sorted out into small piles right by the side by size and color. The window was open, and Peter’s bag was gone. And so was he.

“Aw, buddy, no.” Clint whispered to himself, sliding down the wall onto the ground onto his ass.

Castle walked up behind him. “Where’s the kid?” He asked, crouching down to his level.

“I- I don't know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know where he is, Castle. He ran off. He must’ve heard everything.” Clint said, grabbing onto Frank’s bulletproof vest with a death grip. Tears in his eyes because he promised he’d protect him, and Peter probably heard what was going to happen to him. He ran. His last moments alive were going to be feeling scared, hungry and alone in such a big, big world.

“Well, then you need to get to the kid before he does, because Fury is looking awfully close to taking himself off of safety. I can distract him for only so long, but you need to go after him right now.”

Clint nodded, and took Frank’s hand. They both stood up, and made their respective exits.

Peter ran. He couldn’t go back. Peter doesn’t know why, but he just can’t. He doesn’t even know why, but it was something about ice, and going on it. Cold. It was the idea of cold, he just couldn’t do it, his hands were all shaky, but he ran and chose to push it back deeper. He panted, but barely as he went barrelling through the forest.

He didn’t know how far he would get without money and food, but he brought clothes, so maybe that’d be okay. All Peter could feel were eyes all on him. Machines. Assets. Handlers. Faces flashing through his mind, he just had to get away from it. Maybe Ned would hide him, but he couldn’t tell where he was right now, so it’d be impossible to get to him for him to hide him, and besides, he shouldn’t put his friend through this, not after he’d lied to him the entirety of the time they’d known each other..

For a second, Peter was in the air, he was running so fast, the next, he was on the floor. His stupid, metal legs failing him once more. He could’ve designed them better if he was fresh out of The Chair. They creaked as he tried to stand up, and he groaned in pain. He must’ve hit his head on a stone, he wiped some blood off his face and got up. He lurched forward. He must’ve run for a while, because the sun was getting real low in the orange skyline. He looked to his side, a sign catching his eye, telling him he was in Virginia. Peter sighed, the biting in the back of his neck never stopping. 

Peter stood silently in the woods by himself, watching the sun go down. When the last piece of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the darkness surrounded him, he realized how alone he was. And how cold it was.

He felt like he was thrown into the deep end of The Till, but instead of boiling water, it was ice, and it covered him completely. His hands couldn’t stop shaking, and the biting at the nape of his neck didn’t either. He wanted to curl up, but he kept walking into the abyss of nightfall, stumbling forward, breathing in and out deeply as to try and keep himself calm. But how could he calm himself when Clint was coming to take him back. He yelped as a hand took him by the shoulder.

Clint grabbing him was like he had been pulled out of the Till, only to be shoved back in. Peter threw him off, panicking and trying to move forward, but the junky legs made him stumble and fall again, so Peter instead tried to crawl away in desperation. Clint got up and moved toward him.

“Peter, please-”

“I’m not going back.”

“Peter, I know you’re scared-”

“I’m not going back in there! I can’t get frozen again!” Peter yelled, birds fluttering away. Peter’s face twisted, confusion, looking away from Clint, back toward the ground. “I- I can’t… I can’t go back? Cold. It was so cold… and I was alone? I don’t- I can’t…” Peter sobbed grossily. Leaves and twigs were stuck everywhere, including his hair. His face caked in sweat and mud. Clint wrapped his arms around the fragile boy carefully. His knees getting covered in the midnight dew on the grass.

Out of the trees, a car rolled up, and out of the opened car door, Tony Stark’s face appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a lot happened I love you like the way I wrote ned mj and flash also ned will return


	10. The Toy's New Trick and a Red Haired Witch

With everyone disagreeing with Fury and his actions except for an unnamed few, it was easy to keep Peter out of cryo stasis, but the conditions were that he remained in twenty four hour supervision at the compound, which was equipped with the security to watch over him in such a capacity.

Ultimately, Peter has never felt more alone in all of his currently remembered life. He resigned himself to a bedroom that wasn't his, only coming out when he was sure everyone else was asleep, and no one would stare at him in such disdain. Though, he still stuck to the ceilings in case someone were still lingering.

Sometimes, he could hear Clint talking outside his door. Sometimes Clint asked to talk to him, but Peter never said anything, and he kept his door locked. Someday, he’d talk to Clint again, or maybe he wouldn’t, he didn’t really know, but for now, he’d just stick to the walls and the vent systems.

Late at night, as he ventured out of his room, he always found some new part of the Compound to explore. Today it was the lower levels. Peter thinks it’s a lab maybe, but the lights were left on. From the otherside of the room he can see a man.

“You can stop sneaking around. I can see you, kid.” He said.

Peter dropped down, regretfully. The man sat up from whatever he was working on to focus on him for the moment. He was shorter, well dressed, and clean shaven, although the rims around his eyes were red from sleep deprivation most likely.

“That’s better. Showing a little face, yeah?” Peter doesn’t speak. “And you’re Peter right? Pete? Petey? Parker?”

“Peter is fine.” Pete said softly, not really looking at him straight on. “Though, I’m not really sure who I am anymore.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, I am Iron Man.” Tony said, standing up tall. A smile on his face faltering a bit, due to Peter’s lack of reaction. That had worked pretty well the first time. “What, that not doing it for 

“After I get myself figured, maybe.”

“Oh, don’t count on that. I’m a dinosaur and I’m still just now figuring things out about myself I didn’t know. Don’t tell any of your friends that I called myself a dinosaur, I will find out about it.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m afraid to inform you that I do not have any friends, and I have not talked to any of the others here, so I have no one to tell of your anciency.”

“Hey, watch it, kid.” Tony spoke in a bluffed, warning tone. 

“Respectfully, sir, you said it.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that you’ve never heard of me?”

“Never sir. Perhaps you just don’t have that cultural reach?”

“Cultural reach?” Tony scoffed. “I mean, you only save the entire world how many times over, become one of the smartest men on Earth, and house the Avengers, Tony. It’s not like that’s too hard.”

“Well, then I apologize for being so uncultured, Mr Stark.”

“Yeah, you should.” Tony moved over to start working on something else. “So, how’s dreamland treating you, Spiderling?”

“Sir, I don’t-”

 

“I know, and how's that been for you? You’ve been awake longer than any other human being ever has without dying. You’ve even got me beat, and that’s impressive. When was the last time that you slept?”

“I don’t sleep, Mr. Stark.”

“So, what, five months? That’s impressive. You know what I’d really like to do? Run some tests on you. See what’s going on in that little bug brain of yours.”

“Tests?”

“Y’know, full body scans. The whole shebang. People still say that right?” Stark rambled a bit. Peter wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ignore the full body shakes the thought of someone poking and prodding about his body again gave him.

“No.”

“No? No what. Use your words.”

“I don’t want to be- to be tested on anymore.”

“Well then, Spider-baby, how about we test on things other than you, hmm? You’re a fellow “science-bro,” are you not?”

“I do not know what that means, Mr. Stark.”

“It means you like making things with science, right? I mean, I saw your grades, and it seems like you know your way around a lab.”

“I suppose so.”

“Then c’mon and let’s make some bullshit.” Peter nodded a little, moving toward Tony with caution.

Peter and Tony sat together, working on simple, but time consuming things. Peter seemed to enjoy them though, which Tony took note of. As of late, Tony had been keeping good on getting to sleep on a regular schedule. He’d have to thank himself for not sleeping tonight, while he and the kid, who he hadn't seen since Fury started going off the deep end, actually had a discussion. 

They passed time easily until the early morning, when Bruce came down to the lab. One moment, Peter was sitting beside him, and the next he wasn't as the doors opened up.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! You scared off my new friend!”

“What?” Bruce yawned.

“FRIDAY, where’s my new bestie?”

“According to my scan, Peter Parker’s heat signature hasn't moved in the past fifteen minutes.”

“So what? He has an invisibility cloak?”

“Who has an invisibility cloak?” Bruce asked, confused as he went to make himself coffee.

“Your replacement.” Tony said, throwing a blueberry at where Pete had been sitting, watching it bounce off the invisible boy.

“Finally, retirement. It’s about time.” Bruce sighed into his mug of burning coffee.

“Eh, you’re not that lucky. C’mon Petey, meet my other friend.”

“I don’t want to.” A soft whimper spoke.

“Why not, he’s cool, y’know, a fellow science bro.”

“He’s a doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Sir, Mr. Parker seems to have left the room through the ventilation system.”

“Aw, that’s just fantastic.”

“Guess I’m un-replaced now?” Bruce raised a brow. “So what was that whole thing about? Was that the- was that the um… the kid?”

“Yeah that was the kid. Didn’t know me at all, but definitely terrified of you.” Tony sighed.

“Don’t take it so hard, Tony. Do you think it was the jacket?”

“What?”

“The- the jacket.” Bruce said, setting down his coffee, and taking off the laboratory coat. “Maybe he’s just got a phobia of doctors? He was sort of experimented on, I wouldn’t really hold it against him.”

“I know, Brucey Bear. Look how long it took for him to just come out of his room without incident, though. He wouldn’t even come out for Clint and he imprinted on him like a little duckling.”

“He’s scared. He just needs like to adjust.”

“But how much longer until he’s adjusted then?”

“You can’t rush these types of things, Tony, he’s gotta be in a really fragile place right now. Trying to piece stuff together when nothing makes sense, that’s gotta be hard for anyone to do, let alone a kid.”

“Yeah, yeah. Why don’t we just send in his little boot camp buddy?”

“Do you think that’ll be good for them? Either of them?”

“It might be.”

“Might. That’s a very risky might, Tony.”

“Why are you yapping off at me over there. Get me a coffee before I hack that kid’s brain and indefinitely replace you as favourite rage monster.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bruce sighed, pouring Tony a cup of coffee and handing it to him.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Of course. So, what is it you wanted me down here for?”

Peter snuck around in the vents. He wasn’t sure what he had just done, but it was something incredible. He’d disappeared into thin air, without leaving a trace, and as far as he could remember, he hadn’t done that before. Maybe Asset would be proud of him. Sometimes during the day, he could hear his voice outside his door. Maybe he was just losing his mind, and that’s what happens when you’re away from HYDRA too long. You go and hear things that aren’t there. Or maybe that’s just him.

Peter drops down into the bland room he occupied currently. He let out an exasperated sigh, curling onto himself on top of the bed. 

“Mr. Parker,” an accented female voice spoke. “My name is FRIDAY. I run the house and do anything Mr. Stark requires of me. You may have heard me earlier, speaking to him.”

“I did.”

“Mr. Stark is currently asking when you will be willing to meet him in his lab next. He says that he would enjoy your company while he watches you do all the work. Is there a specific time you’d like to go down?”

“Tell him that I’ll think about it. Tell him that I’ll come for him, not the other way around.”

“Yes, Mr. Parker.”

Another day passed, and another week too, but to Peter, it’s not like that matters so much. He still sneaks out in the dark of night to do nothing and watch everyone in silence, while, also, now unable to be seen. It made things easier when he watched over people as they slept, which was creepy, he knows, but he enjoys to see people in peace, instead of being in fear of him. They always were, it was natural. Didn’t mean he liked it.

Sometimes, just to entertain himself, Peter would move things around. Move the fruit bowl from the counter to the coffee table, take all the books and rearrange them in the reverse order. Or he’d just dump the coffee grounds in the disposal and eat all the marshmallows out of the lucky charms. Which was what he was currently doing, hanging upside down from the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a paper fly, as if someone ran by it too fast, or there was a draft. Though, the lack of a breeze told him what it wasn’t. He dropped the box softly onto the counter, noticing stark blond hair on the other side of the room. He scurried to sneak back into the vents unnoticed, but as he went to pull the cover, it turned a bright red. 

“So what is your deal?” The blond boy asked him. He’d been caught once more. His luck is so fantastic these days, or rather, this life. He might be better next time around, he’ll have to test that theory later.

“How do you mean?” Peter asked.

“We were altered by the the mind stone, but we never met anyone else who could survive it. So, what are you?” A lady with red hair spoke.

“Machine #7, under The Summer Soldier Project. Classed in Program, and weaponized by Asset #4. Could learn more in the files. I don’t know much.”

“Well, we don’t have your files.” Redhead said.

“Nor do we care about them.” Blondie spoke instead. “We just want to help, friend.” 

“Help, how?” He asked, cautiously crawling down the wall. “I have nothing to be helped with. I would not call you a friend in return. I do not have friends, because I am a liar.”

“For some reason, I do not believe that.” The redhead spoke once more, the same red glow engulfing her hands as the vent had earlier.

Peter let out a small gasp and came off the wall, falling onto the floor. There was no more kitchen, and no more blondie and redhead. Just Asset #4, staring down at him.

“Daddy, please!” Peter yelled, pathetically. “Help me!”

“Put him back in.” His handler sighed, looking disappointed in him and taking him back to The Chair, Asset disappearing down an endless hallway. “Make sure he’s perfect next time, or it’ll be you in the deep frier next.”

Arms slammed him onto the ground, holding him down. Above him were empty faces, filled with a number instead of a face. He wiggled and screamed, but a face wearing a simple surgical mask took his arm into his hands.

“Oh, stop squirming!” He giggled, the needle he was holding inching closer and closer to his veins, his voice hoarse from screaming so much. “It will only hurt a lot, my precious little Spider!” He caressed his face and injected him with the experimental dosage of radioactive spider venom. “You will be perfect!”

“The perfect machine. Loyal, intelligent, obedient, and completely self-sufficient. He has over one thousand confirmed kills. I think it’s safe to say boys, we can retire this failure of a model.” One of the handlers laughed, pouring themselves a drink and readying themselves for a show. “The rest are great, but none as good as the runt, and who would’ve thought! Begin.”

He ran at the first Machine and their handler. The oldest and the weakest, one half of a set of twins. He killed them both where they stood with ease, the blood covering his eyes. The eyes that were scooped from his skull while he was awake. The eyes that watched as he actually killed over two thousand people. Eyes that watched his parents die, Asset leave, Bucky hate him, and everyone come to fear his presence with every loss and gain in memory and every kill. Eyes that were once brown but are now green because he was too weak to escape, but too strong to break completely, only convince of what was right. What was right?

“What did you do to me?” Peter whispered, the redhead looked at him with shock. “What did you do to me?!” He screamed, pouncing onto her, and taking her by the collar, his feet planted on her chest. She cried and sobbed but he did not know why. Red light threw him off of her, and a fast flash of color ended with blondie wrapping his arms around redhead.

“Are you okay?” He asked breathlessly. 

“He- his memories are so painful. I do not know how he bares them.”

Peter looked between them, his hands trembled. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He didn’t mean it, so he scurried back up the walls and the vents to his room. His own arms engulfing himself once more as he sobbed into them on the bed that was not his in the room that was not his, in a place that was not his Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please validate me in the comments I have low self esteem


	11. Walking on Sunshine

Peter wouldn’t dare even trek into the vents after meeting those two. Before them and after them was sorta like before and after Christ, (and he knew who that was now, thanks FRIDAY. Sometimes she had use.) Before, he thought he had things to process, to really understand more in depth, but now he was truly thrown into the deep end. Everything at once was a lot harder to chew then the crumbs his brain could muster up. Why had they done this to him? Did they want to reset him? Because Peter is honestly quite conflicted on what he wanted. They made him kill, but he knew them. They hurt him, but the fear was not fear because it was respect. Appreciation at the highest degree, keeping him healthy, keeping him clean, allowing him to sleep on a bed that he wouldn’t want to stay in all day. Allowing to not have to feel everything, and remember everything. The lack of those two things made existence feel so much more peaceful. Like he was in a small, old row boat, creaky, a small leak, or two, but familiar.

At some point, Peter thinks he fell asleep. Like, actually sleep. Where you close your eyes, and curl up onto your side, because his eyes flew open, and he felt like he was suffocating again. He was getting sick and tired of feeling like this. Powerless, while tears tried to burn out of his skull, but crying is against the rules. He was stuck here, with a bunch of people who didn’t like him, and talked about him when they thought he couldn’t hear them speak. Wasn’t their fault though, he supposed. He was a monster. Monsters get talked about. Like ghosts, or werewolves, and vampires. He doesn’t suck blood, but he does get it all over him often. That comes without being said when you’re a cold blooded murderer.

In his sulking, someone knocked on the door. He didn’t say anything, or move to get it, because why would he? He had nothing to say, and no one really wanted him around much so he’d float around unseen and uncared for. They knocked again, Peter could hear their impatience from across the room, they’d leave soon, and he’d be left alone to think about everything he was forced to think about. 

Unexpectedly, his door swung open. He jumped up onto the wall out of shock. He had almost thought that the door wouldn't open for anyone else, but here he sat, stuck to the wall, proven wrong. Mr Stark sat on the bed he’d (regretfully,) fallen asleep on earlier, something in his hands.

“Why are you in here?” Peter asked quietly.

“It’s my house.”

“Understood, sir, but I asked for you to wait for me to come to you.”

“Well, I guess I’m just a little bit impatient, but I’m rich, so I at least come bearing gifts.”

“I can see that, Mr. Stark.”

“Here. I heard you’re the little asshole who keeps picking all the marshmallows out of my cereal, so I think you’ll enjoy it.” Tony said, tossing Peter the box. Peter took it and inspected it for a moment before eating a few marshmallows.

“I hear the word “asshole” quite often, but I still don’t know what it means.” Peter shook his head, looking at the ground below him.

“Yeah, forget I said that, I wouldn’t want your buddy messing me up in a back any anytime soon.”

“Yes sir. Although, I do not have any friends, like I have discussed earlier.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why have I been hearing about you and my other little HYDRA brats having a little party in my living room, at the beautiful hour of three in the morning, without me?”

“They are not my friends. I don’t even know the blond or the redhead, nor would I wish to after whatever the redhead did to me.”

“What she do to you?”

“She went inside my head, I think. She made me remember stuff, and said she wanted to help me.”

“What’d you remember, kid?”

“Everything I thought I couldn’t. That’s why I haven't gone out. I have things to process. I would really enjoy some time alone if I am honest, to do that. Process.”

“Eh, that sucks.You’re not getting that today. Doing that for a week doesn’t sound fun at all. Get off the wall, we’re going to go do some science.” Tony ordered, and Peter obedied out of compulsion. Keeping the box of marshmallows with a horse that had one horn on the front to his chest.

“Anything you’d like to science in particular, kid?” Tony asked as he opened the door for him. Peter stepped inside.

“Is it possible that we could work on my legs? They’re terrible.”

“I’m offended. I only had two hours on those things. Gimme the rundown then.”

“The titanium platings were altered to the point of compromisation in their design. The plates meet and overlap each other which makes it harder to run or rotate them to their original full 360 degree capabilities. The platings, in being altered so damagingly have exposed some of the wires. Also, a majority of the sensors were disconnected which makes it harder to stand, or walk in a straight path.”

“So… we need to fix everything.”

“Correct. Full point restoration, top to bottom. The preference is titanium. I also would like properly waterproof the wires and recreate the internal links that allow for touch sensation.”

“I like you kid. How long do you think it’ll take you to completely rework it?”

“I don’t know, but you could start a timer if you’d like to.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” Tony said, telling FRIDAY to start one as he watched Peter set down everything he needed and disconnected the subpar metal prosthetics, putting them onto the table.

It took Peter exactly two hours to take apart his prosthetics and completely remake them from scratch, and Tony was very humbly impressed by the kid and his work. Tony had sat on the opposite end of the table, drinking a black coffee, watching as the kid reconnected the legs by himself. It was like watching a much younger, way smarter version of himself, if he had been on the quieter side, and had a little more to deal with than some light bullying here and some daddy issues there. 

While Peter had been working so diligently that his senses dulled, Bruce had snuck back down into the lab without him even noticing. Which was why Peter jumped up, instead of stood up slowly to ease into the improved legs. Comparatively though, they ran like a dream so far. He knew Tony’s work was only bad because he’d been tasked with ripping out wires that looked like it might’ve been what weaponized it, but he might as well had just given him silicon legs instead with how much of the joints he’d gone and ripped to shreds.

“Woah kid, careful there, wouldn’t want to break them on the first ride.” Tony said as he caught Peter’s shoulder, the spinny chair he’d sat in went flying behind him. 

“At least he didn’t disappear this time. We can count this as a win.” Bruce commented, looking up from whatever he was working on. 

“Yeah, maybe. Brucie dear, you’ve gotta come look at our wonderful spider son though, he’s about to take his first steps all by himself.” Tony chuckled to himself, hearing Bruce come up behind him. 

“Of course, dear.” Bruce sighed, giving Peter a once over before turning back toward Tony. “He rebuilt them himself?”

“Yeah, and it took him exactly two hours. Pretty sure that was just to spite me.”

“Probably was. Looks like you’re not the only genius in town anymore.”

“C’mon Brucey Bear, you’ve gotta give yourself some credit there, you created your little green buddy.”

“Yeah, and he’s always flirting with Natasha. That’s just weird for me.”

“Oh yeah? He not as into Point Break?”

“Who’s Point Break and Natasha?” Peter asked almost silently, sitting back in the spinny chair since he didn’t wanna come off as rude and run off again.

“Oh no, I think he likes him more than her, but only by a little bit. Is it even possible for him to be a completely different sexuality then me?”

“Who knows. We could test that theory later.” Tony winked jokingly.

“Yeah. Not with you.”

“I’m wounded, my love.”

“Then suffer. I want a divorce.” Bruce snickered.

Tony gasped, clutching his heart in feigned hurt. Quickly shrugging it off though. “You gonna actually walk, Spider-baby?”

Peter stood from the spinny chair. “I was just waiting for your attention.”

“He gets that from you.” Bruce jokingly whispered into Tony’s ear while Peter walked over to grab his marshmallow cereal. He grabbed a handful, walked over to Bruce and offered him some. Bruce took it. “Thanks, Pete.”

“Can I go back to the room you allow me to sleep in now, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner?” Peter asked softly.

“Suggestion, you could just call it “my room,” kid.” He snarked, Bruce’s hand going up on his shoulder.

“It’s not my room. It’s your room. Remember, Mr. Stark?”

“Whatever. Just don’t get there through my vents or on my ceiling.”

“Yes, sir.” Peter nodded, walking out the doors to the lab.

Tony deflated once Peter was gone.

“At least we made progress.” Bruce offered, putting a couple marshmallows in his mouth.

“At least we made progress.”

Peter stalked the hallways silently, trying to avoid all signs of life he could. He was reminded of several high risk stealth missions he’d been on in his life that he could so suddenly access that he couldn’t even comprehend it all. Although, none had his heart racing as much as this did. Being on the ground came with a certain level of anxiety for him. He felt small, and watched. From above, he could choose whether or not people even knew he existed. He decidedly, does not like Tony’s new rule that tried to strip him of who he was. 

Tony also called him “Spider” a lot. No one really called him Spider though. Except for his scientist, his doctor. Tony was also, awfully chummy with a doctor. Peter didn’t like the way any of this looked to him. While none of them threw him into The Till, or The Chair, or The Pit, they certainly did not care one bit. Though, apathy, or well disguised disdain; he hadn’t decided if that was better or worse.

Peter turned a corner and caught a glimpse of long, dark mocha colored hair, and the reflective glint titanium gave off in the light. He disappeared before darting off, his footsteps, however light they may be, turned his head. Peter almost let himself look back at him, but he knew he’d only see disappointed eyes so he just ran back to the one place he could be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one comment = one gammahammer smorch


	12. The Way the Sky Cries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a tad bit of character building filler also I really just want to thank everyone for the amazing response so far it makes my day responding to comments and seeing what you people think. I hope what I have planned impresses you all :)

Someone had their arms wrapped around him, but not in an uncomfortable, anxiety inducing way. She smelled like vanilla bean, coffee, hardwork, and pure, unadulterated dedication. She rubbed circles into the small of his back before letting him come up from the hug. Her face was enveloped in a bright, and warm maternal glow. Her red painted lips told him that he would be okay, she would never let anything bad happen to him. 

Peter couldn’t hear her over loud bangs, and the sound of the plane going down, but he just knew. Her deep, sacremento, eyes told a different story, but he trusted her. Two separate pairs of lips pressed against his smaller, chubbier face, and whispered sweet nothings to him as he closed his eyes and cried. Holding onto the woman’s dress suit with an unrelenting deathgrip.

He sat up in his bed. He must’ve fallen asleep again. He didn’t see what all the hoopla was about it, but he has parents. He has parents, a family. Richard and Mary. Mommy and daddy, but they're not around anymore. The picture image provided by his mind's eye presented him with legs, bent in all the wrong directions, while sitting in Mary’s chest, blood pooling out her mouth and out her head, just like Richard who was not even two feet away from them.

Peter wiped tears from his eyes that had managed to manifest their way into the real world. No one had told him the pain that came with remembering things that brought such burden on his this weary head of his.

Peter grabbed his marshmallow cereal and plunged his hand into the box, over the course of two weeks he’d managed to empty it all out. All he came up with wa three four-leafed clover shaped marshmallows. He shoved them in his mouth, but he continued to be hungry. Peter pouted over the loss of the ridiculously sugary breakfast food, and clutched the box to his chest and tried to sneak into the kitchen without getting caught. It was almost night time, so hopefully everyone had cleared out and went to bed. He couldn’t hear the small talk and footsteps over his own, slow, starvation. 

He walked inside and at first, there was only one person staring at him. He had time to run, if only he hadn’t frozen where he stood. Once one person caught on it was a riptide of faces turning to watch him. He felt trapped underneath their gazes like a magnifying glass in the sun. It was too late now, so he walked inside fully, trying to mask his fear and caution, but his steps were silent and his eyes stayed stagnant and wide. The cardboard box almost flattened in his hands as he tried to make his way over to the recycling bin.

“There’s the man of the hour. We were all just wondering when you were gonna start showing up in places that aren't the lab or the vents.” Tony commented. Peter nodded quietly as the box dropped into the bin, making only a soft “whoosh” noise as gravity pulled the plastic away to allow it all the way down.

“I didn’t mean to intrude on anything. I think I’ll head back to “my room” now, Mr. Stark.”

“No, no, no. Don’t you dare. I got another friend for you to meet.”

“Are they another doctor?” Peter whimpered, feeling embarrassed about he was reacting to being around other people. They all had been doing it just fine before, why can’t he just be like them.

“No, the exact opposite, he’s the lord of sparkles, buddy.”

“I should have never told you that tale, Stark.” A booming voice spoke, standing up from his seat at the island. He was much taller than anyone in the room, Peter was just a little bit intimidated. 

“To answer your question, this is Point Break.”

“It is pleasant to finally meet, son of Arachne.” The guy called Point Break said, taking his hand and shaking it, it hurt. “I am Thor, son of Odin, I have heard all about your great conquests in battle. Taking on Natasha and surviving is no easy feat.”

“Thor, we’re not talking about that.” Clint said, sighing a bit.

“Ah, my apologizes. We may discuss this later.” Thor said and patted him on the shoulder and walked over to Bruce, who was doing something on his tablet with Tony. 

Peter considered disappearing for a few moments, everyone else was doing something. They weren’t even really looking at him much anymore, so would it even be that rude? Clint spooked him out of his head.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Yes sir, I’m fine.”

“You hungry? I can make you something to eat.” Clint spoke softly, seeing the very obvious fear in his eyes. Clint wished Fury could’ve just minded his own damn business then none of this would’ve happened. Peter nodded a little a bit, which Clint was happy about because Peter’s cheekbones jutted out in a rather sickly way that they hadn’t when he was living with him. Clint made him a sandwich, which he ate quickly.

“I’m sorry… about everything that happened.”

“It’s fine sir.”

“You don’t have to call me “sir,” buddy. You know that right?”

Peter shrugged a little, looking down at his empty plate. His shaggy hair covering his eyes. The one that had been punched out was still a strange color, Clint worried that it was broken, but he wouldn’t know unless Peter talked to him about it.

“You want another one buddy?”

“Yes please.”

Clint made him two more sandwiches, which Peter ate, because his stomach is a bottomless pit, both because he’s a super soldier, and he’s a teenager, which was a very explosive combination of things. Though after a while it started to rain, and Peter ws drawn to the soft, methodical dripping the water made onto the ground outside. It was gentle, and slow, like a lullaby, but it didn’t rock him to sleep. He was an inch away from squishing his body up on the glass like a toddler, impatiently waiting to go to the playground. Clint headed of to go back home.

“I think he may wanna go outside.” Bruce whispered when he peered over at the overgrown teen.

“What is he, a puppy?” Tony scoffed. “He’s certainly got the eyes down.”

“I dunno about puppy, but I can certainly see traumatized teen who’s brain development stagnated. I could look into that given a brain scan, a “consultant,” and some time.” Bruce implied quietly.

“Yeah. Let’s do that. Hey Point Break, you’re not doing anything useful. Why don’t you go take the kid on a walk, show him some magic tricks?”

“I am doing many useful things right now, like, participating in this conversation at this moment. Or supporting my lover in his conquest for knowledge and truth.”

“You’re basically a glorified person heater right now. Get off my Bruce before you give him a heatstroke, Twinkle Toes.”

“Your Bruce?” Thor challenged, brow raised as he shifted his weight off his boyfriend slightly.

“Tony’s right. You should go hang out with the kid, he’s nice, he gave me some of his cereal he likes so much. Really sugary. No wonder he sleeps about as much as this one.” Bruce said, eyes still on his tablet as he gestured to Tony.

“Rude.” Tony pouted, and scooped his cold spaghetti in his mouth.

“Aye, if you say so, my dearest.” Thor said, taking Bruce’s hand and kissing it in a romantic gesture. “Then I shall make my leave.” Bruce blushed and held the hand he’d kissed to his face.

“Augh! Yuck!” Tony complained loudly. “Really? In front of my spaghetti?”

“Don’t worry about it dear, one day when you’re older you’ll understand.” Bruce rolled his eyes, going back to his work.

Peter sat in front of the glass windows quietly, his back against the wall, and his fingers just almost touching the window. His eyes constantly moving in an attempt to follow every drop. Thor stood over him for a moment, before crouching down to his level. Peter quickly moved away from him, via the wall. Thor stood back up, but he couldn’t get eye level if he was hanging above everyone else.

“Hello little guy, we met earlier, I presume you remember?”

“I do.”

“Would you like to venture outdoors with me?”

“I’m allowed?”

“Why not? Now if you could just… come down we might go and explore.” Thor spoke, offering Peter a hand down onto the ground and a convincing smile. Peter crawled straight up the wall and out of sight. “What in Odin’s rule…?”

“Hey Point Break, look behind you.” Tony said, holding back a giggle.

Thor let out a surprisingly high-pitch yelp, seeing Peter’s face, not inches away from him. “Can we go now?”

“Oh my god, that was too good.” Tony gasped, practically bursting at the seams of his tailored pants. “FRIDAY, tell me you recorded that.”

“Of course I did boss, I record everything.”

“Yeah, if you didn’t then we would’ve had a problem.”

“What would you like me to do with this footage?”

“Put in the “clips for when I can’t sleep at night,” folder.” Tony breathed still trying to collect himself. Bruce was having a good chuckle himself.

“We can leave now.” Thor said to Peter, practically dragging him through the kitchen and out the door.

Outside, Thor and Peter didn’t walk far. Thor brought him into the open field that sat in front of the window he’d so intently sat out in front of. Thor sat on a bench. Three trees overhead only protecting him slightly from the onslaught of rain, while Peter sat on the ground, a few feet in the front of him. The wet grass brushing up against the younger boy’s legs, and the dirt stuck to the bottoms of his feet. He held his arms out in front of him and watched how the cool rain dripped out onto the sides of his forearms, and slowly slid off and fell onto the damp ground below.

“You know, on my home world, Asgard, after it would rain and the bifrost would shine so brightly that there would be a giant rainbow in the sky, and all of Asgard could see it.”

“Sounds pretty.”

“It was one of the most beautiful things in all the nine realms.”

“Realms?”

“Ah, come closer my friend, I’ll show you.” Thor smiled and Peter inched toward him. He sat at his feet while he produced a little notebook. “This is the nine realms, they’re all connected by the great Yggdrasil. Here’s Asgard, Midgard, Jotunheim, that’s actually where my little brother, Loki is from, Vanaheim, Svartalvheim, Nidavellir, Muspelheim, Alfheim, and Niflheim. We are in Midgard, which you call Earth.”

“What’s your brother like?”

“Ah, Loki? He… he is a little asshole, don’t tell anyone that I said that word, but he causes a great deal of mischief. Once when he and I were still boys, he turned himself into a snake, and he knew how I love snakes, so I went to pick it up and admire it. As I held him, he transformed back into himself and said “Mblregh! It’s me!” and then he stabbed me.”

“So… you do not like him?”

“No, he may be a great fool, and a trickster, but he is my brother, and I love him dearly. That’s what family is for.”

Peter nodded silently, and went back to watching the rain fall. The drops growing heavier with each passing moment, until each drop made a large “schlap” noise onto the ground below the charcoaled sky. 

“Don’t you think he should come inside?” Steve asked, watching over them from the window in the tower. “He could get pneumonia, just sitting out there like that.”

“C’mon, capsicle, he’s having a fun time out there ripping grass out of my lawn. Let him be.” Tony said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve shook his head slightly, and his brows drew closer in worry. “Besides, he does have your little magic potion in him too, and when was the last time you got the sniffles?”

“You’re right. I’m just worried about him is all.” Steve let out a deep, exasperated breath he didn’t know he’s been holding.

“We all are, cap, but the kid needs time to adapt. As much as I hate to say it.”

“I just wish things hadn’t happened like that.”

“So do I, cap. Try not to eat yourself up about it, I’m sure I can do that enough for the both of us.” Tony smirked, and Steve chuckled sadly, looking his old friend in the eye. 

“You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“Yeah? Like eating a hot lunch, or participating in the fitness challenges?”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Aye, aye.” Tony saluted the dorito shaped worry-wart before heading off, down to he and Bruce’s lab.

Peter and Thor sat in the thunderous rain until the clouds parted and the moon’s gentle light brushed against their faces. The two of them both soaking wet, but Peter more so than the much older god. Thor had retroactively decided he liked the stoic boy, as ran off to tell Bruce how much of a good babysitter he’d been while Peter crawled back into his room, alone and wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some gammahammer for you hoes drop a comment like the rain


	13. Born Out of the Need to

Peter’s started to come out of his room more. Acting almost like a person as he floated through space he was unwanted in. He still hadn’t talked to Bucky, or Asset, or whatever his name was now. He probably wouldn’t want to talk to him anyways Peter had shot his friend. It wasn’t like he’d made an effort to seek him out either, so they would just keep things quiet for now. Peter would wait for him, and if he never came then that’s just how it would be.

Peter has also been dreaming a lot lately. Like, closing your eyes, falling asleep, and dreaming. He’d imagine that was a disappointment to Tony, since he and his doctor friend Bruce wanted to see how long he could go without it. Peter just wanted to stop having to fall asleep. Everytime he did, he ended up remembering untasteful things he really wished he hadn’t. He didn’t learn too much more about Richard or Mary, but he kept dreaming about another woman who swept him up into the air and gave him raspberries, and let him sleep next to her when he was convinced there was monsters, which was foolish, because he was supposed to be a monster. Her name was May, she was his auntie.

Though he’d been coming out, he still only came out after lunch. On this day, feeling particularly sorrow, he only crawled out of his room into the kitchen after about midnight. The starlight krept it’s way in through the curtainless windows as he raided the cabinets for overly fattening cereals, which of course there always was. He ate it dry, and out of the box as per usual in the silence of the night. Bruce and Tony would be downstairs, working on some sort of project diligently while everyone else slept, Clint would be sleeping too, but all the way back at his house where he was needed. Peter wondered why he was even here, if he only ever caused discomfort and distraction. Even the god didn’t want to interact with him unless someone else put him up to it, and Bucky, the one person he’d ever wanted to be around in his life hated him vietmently. There was no point for him even being alive really, he had no cause, or purpose. At least when he was a soldier, he had a purpose. This just sucks.

 

Peter could feel the biting on the back of his neck before he could hear muffled footsteps approaching in long strides, their voices unknown, but familiar. Peter disappeared quietly to avoid being in their way while he ate. From the hallway, appeared Bucky and Steve, both looking rather frustrated as they walked into the kitchen.

“Bucky you can’t keep doing this to yourself!” Steve argued, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“And why can’t I?” Bucky asked him, walking straight passed Peter. It was odd to be so unseen but so out in the open. He almost held his breath as they stood by him.

“Because it’s unhealthy!”

“So? That’s my problem, not yours to deal with!”

“It is my problem to deal with because I love you! Because it’s affecting the kid.”

“Don’t bring him into this.” Bucky huffed.

“How can I not? He’s already in this, is he not?”

“He isn’t!”

“Then why are you avoiding him like the black plague?” Steve yelled at his lover, which shocked both him and Peter. Steve shook his head and took a deep breath. “Look, he needs you Bucky. You’re the only person that he’s ever known in a building jam packed with big, intimidating people. You both barely are even taking care of yourselves because of this. You need to help yourself to help him.”

“What if I just spazz him out though, Stevie? The last time he saw me he was stuck in that mindset, and what if because of that I trigger him, and he just hurts everyone?”

“He won’t, Bucky. You should see him, he misses you, I can tell.”

“How?”

“Because, I’m the same way.” Steve spoke softly as they both gradually inched closer towards one another.

“What if I spazz out?”

“You won’t. I’d be surprised if you don’t start crying and kissing the kid till he’s all red and embarrassed, like your mama used to.” He chuckled soft, running his thumb over Bucky’s cheek.

They continued to talk softly, and although their conflict about him had obviously been resolved, the biting at the nape of his neck hadn’t plunged into silence. In fact, it only got worse. Peter quietly stood up, and walked around for a moment, investigating what was causing it to be set off. It was too late when he found it.

Peter became visible once more, and tried to push Bucky and Steve as far away as possible. They went flying as the bomb right beside them and him hit zero, and Peter was slammed into the wall. For a moment, he blacked out, but he shook the ringing out of his ears and stood up, pulling himself off the floor. Out of the smoke a girl appeared, her pistol pointed at his chest. Peter felt a cool rush flow through his body as he so familiarly lost control.

Peter can remember things only in flashes, but the sound of cracking bones, and snapping necks reverberated in his head on an indefinite loop. The body of the girl who’d aimed at him with the gun below him, her leg and her neck all twisted at a weird angle. He’d done it again. Peter couldn’t breath, he felt like he was floating away. Like he was dying. Someone called out his name. They screamed at him, but they were too far away, and black overtook his vision once more.

He woke up in a white room, with a loud beep that hurt his head. His mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton, and his eyes stung. He felt little pricks introduction throughout his arm, he tried to rip out what was there with his hand but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t get his other amr to move, something wrapped around his wrist when he went to bite it out instead.

“Don’t do that, buddy.” Someone whispered to him.

“Wha-” He whined, still wrestling to get up.

“No, no, no, c’mon- uh hey! A little help!” That someone yelled, Peter flinched away from the familiar voice, tugging his hand from the much colder one. 

He sat up, his head reeling like an old tape. Everything was a fast moving, blur of color and motion lines, like confetti falling from the sky onto the pale snow of white walls and white floors. He tore the IV from his arm and tried to stand up. Another person quickly scooped him up and tried to put him back onto the bed he’d been lying on. He whined and squirmed weakly.

“Oh god, kid, I’m too old to be doing this.” The man complained at him, which Peter ignored.

“We need to get that IV back in him!” Someone else yelled.

“I know! What do you think I’m trying to do!”

“Hey, Peter look over there!”

Peter. That was him, right? Probably. Whoever was holding him turned his head in the other direction. A man with dark, long hair, and a missing arm was instantly recognizable to him.

“Asset.” He choked out, outstretching an arm he couldn’t feel to him the edges of his vision were black but he could see a stub where his forearm should be. “Asset!”

There was so much noise, and the light were too bright, everyone around him was yelling at each other, and the only one who sat, quietly was him. Asset looked sad. He must’ve been bad. He did something, he did it again. Someone put some sort of plastic device over his face and the world was black again.

“He risked his life to save us.” Steve stated, sitting next to his lover, who was hunched up at the boy’s beside.

“Like an idiot.” Bucky huffed, his human hand running up to wipe over his tired eyes that had been filled with smoke after the blast. “How did this even happen?”

“That’s what everyone’s trying to figure out. They wanna know who… he killed.”

“He’s gonna hate himself.” Bucky muttered. “I think recognize the body.”

“Who was it?”

“It was his girlfriend, or as close as you can get to that when you’re stuck over there. She was #4I think. I don’t understand why people can’t just stay dead.” Bucky said in a frustrated tone.

“Yeah.” Steve spoke softly, biting at the bottom lip while he tried to decide how he wanted to go about the entire, very strange situation. “How’re you doing, Buck?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to ask if you’re okay.”

“Cut the shit, Steve. What are they saying out there?”

“A bunch of questionable science shit that makes no sense to old geezers like us. And it’s not bullshit, I wanna know how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t know how I feel Stevie. I just want him to be okay.”

“I know, Bucky, I know.”

In the other room, Tony and Bruce were attempting to figure out the connotations of the brain scan they did on Peter. Bruce pulled up other scans from other patients to compare.

“So, what am I seeing?” Tony asked Bruce, who'd posted up three separate brain scans.

"Well here, we have Peter's brain scan, over here, we have another boy's scan, who'd a similar age, and a five year old's brain scan." Bruce explained, gesturing between the different readings. "In some areas Peter looks more like the boy his age, but in others, it's a lot closer to the six year old."

"What's that mean?" Tony asked, not prying his eyes away from the scans.

"Well, my best guess would be developmental stagnation because of everything he went through. But based off the way he described these episodes I wondered if he had DID."

"You're talking to me like I'm the doctor."

"It used to be called multiple personality disorder. Usually patients that have it have traumatic childhoods."

"So is that what he's got?"

"I'm not sure Tony, I'm not that kind of doctor, I can't make that diagnosis. I looked into it but it doesn't seem likely. Usually people with DID have more than one "alter" and his brain activity seems more closely aligned with someone suffering from sever post-traumatic stress. So I have just about no clue what's wrong." Bruce sighed heavily.

There was a few moments of silence between the two geniuses. A lull in the conversation as their overactive minds got to work, digging for solutions.

"What if this alter is like his hulk?" Tony asked, causing Bruce to whip his head from the front of the room where all the brain scans had been hung up.

"What do you mean?" 

“Well, the Hulk got green because your body had a choice wether to accept or to deny the radiation. It made a third option because it couldn't handle it. Hulk attacks most people that come for you, and acts like a different person. What if this "alter" is his version of that. He couldn't emotionally handle what was happening to him anymore so he turned into someone else to protect himself but he doesn't know it. It explains the lack of memory.”

"That... actually makes a lot of sense. But now I have so many more questions."

"Like what is this other version is still loyal to our big octopus overlord?"

"Yeah... that."

Tony deflated and ran a hand through his messy but very styled hair. “How much longer do you think he’ll be asleep for with his metabolism?”

“Not very long. How much did you give him?”

“I gave him the normal dosage at first, but he woke up in the first thirty minutes so I gave him about as much as it would take to knock out Steve.”

“Good. Hopefully he’ll be able to sleep through the next few days.” Tony sighed, propping his head up against his hands on the table.

“Hopefully.”


	14. The Break Up and the Overnight Bag

When he woke up again, things were different. He pried his eyes open with the will of a crowbar, and gazed up at the ceiling, and it was his. No more blinding lights. The curtains were drawn, but light still bled into the room. He was almost reminded of waking up in Clint’s house which felt like decades ago now, even though it was really only a few months in the past, when he looked and saw his right forearm gone, and replaced with a titanium prosthetic.

Everyone apart of the team was called into the meeting to discuss the situation. Two people off the long list, was Fury and his left hand girl, Hill. All the past few days since it happened, everyone was desperately rushing around in an attempt to search for answers and ways to defend against this unforeseen threat to national security. Though it was not preferable to sit around the table and spew information for an indefinite amount of hours, it had to happen.

“So what do we know?” 

“We were attacked where it hurt most.” Steve stated, he stood up against the wall. There weren’t enough seats for everyone.

“And our security systems didn’t detect it. I rewatched the moments just before and after the bomb was set off and what it looks like is that they girl suddenly appeared.” Tony spoke as he set up the footage on their screens.

“So, what actually happened?” Natasha asked him.

“Exactly that. I was able to access some more old HYDRA files last night while I couldn’t sleep. Bestie, now what number was our suicide bomber again?”

“Machine #4.”

“Ah, there it is!” Tony put the murder girl’s file up on the screen. “You see, if you dig a little into her file, and read through the lines, if you will direct your precious eyes toward the highlighted area, you’ll read that our miss Felicia Hardy has the ability to disappear and reappear at will, incredible intellect, vision, and flexibility. Not unlike someone else we know who may or may not be sleeping upstairs at the moment.”

“Mr. Parker is currently awake, boss.” FRIDAY announced.

“Thanks, I did not ask, but try a little harder next time, okay?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Tony, I have a question.” Steve said, his arms crossed over his chest.

“If you would just hold your horses dear, I could probably answer your question before you ask it.” Tony mumbled into his laptop.

“I also have a question.” Sam announced. “How come all of us are here? This doesn’t sound like an issue that concerns every superhero that’s currently on planet Earth.”

There were almost a few whispers in agreement, but another image popped onto the screen. It was the same girl that Peter had killed about a week prior, but this time, she was in a cryo stasis cell, and she was shot through the heart. There was almost silence in the large room.

“Would you mind narrating the image, Stark?” Fury asked him.

“Not at all, evil eye patch. This is Felicia Hardy right before Siberia happened. I knew I recognized her from somewhere after seeing her body. Just to clarify, she’s one hundred percent dead right here, and she’s one hundred percent dead where she’s being stored currently.”

“We can see that she’s dead, but how can she have two bodies?” Rhodey asked.

“That’s exactly what I said, dear. Me and Bruce checked out the body we have currently lacks a naval cavity. Which is almost physically impossible to not have if you’re a human being.”

“So what? She’s an alien?” Sam asked with an incredulous tone.

“That’s almost the exact opposite of what I’m trying to say. Maybe you’d know what I’m trying to say by now if you don't interrupt me every five minutes, Polly.” Tony huffed, waving his hand in the air. “This Felicia is a clone. I went back to Siberia to see if the body was still there so I could take samples, it was and I got my sample. I noticed that her calf was missing. Now someone has a very weird, and highly specific kink, or HYDRA is trying to regroup with what little they have left.”

“What does this mean for us?” Wanda asked, looking toward her older brother who sat beside her. “And the boy?”

“For Peter? Someone’s after him, someone powerful, someone smart, and skilled enough to do things that should not be possible for at least ten or twenty more years. He needs our protection or he ends up in the wrong hands doing stuff he’d rather not.” Tony spoke, using his hands as he spoke. “For us? Well, we better get to work figuring out what it means for us. Until then, I think you all might wanna flush your goldfish, and pack your inhalers in your overnight bags, boys and girls.”

Peter moved his new, metal, fingers slowly. The sensation was hardly new. Prosthetics were just something he was used to by now when over fifty percent of his body was non-organic, but this new part of him was unlike his legs. Someone else had made it, an this time it didn’t completely suck. Maybe Stark had used his legs as a model and restricted a few of the artificial nerve endings. His human hand ran his natural fingers over the artificial forearm, trying to find the panel he could remove to look inside at the wires. After a few minutes, and his search being unsuccessful he gave up and got off his bed.

“You’re still supposed to be asleep.” Tony spoke, sitting in the desk chair.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Not long. Got to see you feeling yourself up. Like it?”

“The artificial nerve endings in the middle finger weren’t structured correctly.”

“Heck, and that’s the most important finger too.” Tony smirked a bit. “Bet you could fix that little issue later.”

“Probably.”

“Here,” Tony handed Peter a plate that was filled up with pancakes, egg, and bacon. “Eat up.” Peter took the plate and started to eat. Shoving the food down into his mouth he felt starved. Like he hadn’t eaten in years. “Clint made it. He’s pretty worried about you.”

“How is he and his wife?”

“Well, ah, he and Laura, they’re gonna be spending some time… divorced.”

“What’s a divorce?” Peter asked through a mouthful of pancake and syrup.

“A divorce is what you get to breakup with someone after you married them, for some reason or another.”

“It’s my fault right?”

“What do you mean?”

“The reason they’re getting divorced, I’m that right?”

“No. Not at all. Why would you think that?”

“Because Mr. Barton brought me to his home without Laura’s permission, and she hates me.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, kid.”

“Then why does she always stare at me like I killed her puppy, and yell at Mr. Barton, telling him to “just listen to Fury.” Or is that just a different kind of love.”

“Okay, maybe she hates you. Which is absolutely unreasonable. How could anyone hate you, you’re sickeningly adorable for a seven year old.”

“I thought I was thirty-two?”

“What made you think that?”

“The calendar.”

“Welp, you’re just wrong. You’re still a tot, a very badly freezer burnt baby.”

“I know what most of those words mean, but not in that order.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark.” Peter sighed, setting the empty plate beside himself. He wrung his hands in his lap.

“What are you thinking, kid?” Tony asked, moving back and forth in the swivel chair.

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

“What you mean?”

“Last time, when I beat up Flash, I got in trouble and I had to come here. This time, I killed a girl.”

“Look, kid neither of those two things that happened were your fault.”

“Yes it was. I should’ve been able to control myself better, but I couldn't and I hurt people, Mr. Stark.”

“The fact that you actively did not want to do those things proves to me that it wasn’t your fault. You need to work on that guilt complex of yours, kid.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“But there’s some people here that don't see eye to eye with me on that. Some people are afraid of what you can do, but that’s because they’re dumbasses. Other people’s fears aren’t on you to deal with, but because they have to be here, they want you to stay in your room and stay visible.”

“And you agree with them?”

“Only because the last time you left you and both your dads got hurt badly. You need some time to collect yourself.”

“Okay, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stood up, brushing out the nonexistent creases in his suit. He took the plate that Peter left sitting on the bed to his right. “I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything just yell at FRIDAY to get me.” 

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you like it please drop a comment and tell me where you think this disaster is going


	15. And I Wish You a Merry, Merry...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since I just started high school I decided I'm not gonna post on Wednesdays anymore

A few more months passed and the team hadn’t gotten anywhere on finding out who was behind the attack. In that time, similar bombings happened, all with the same dead body on the scene. The world felt like it was teetering on the edge of order or chaos, and it was almost Christmas. 

The divorce had been filed for Clint and Laura, so there was no going back now. The lawyers were most definitely siding with his wife, or ex-wife really, which he didn’t fault them for. He was a superhero after all. That’s a dangerous life not suited for taking care of kids. He couldn’t even see them if he wanted to right now, who knows when he’d be able to see them again. It might be a few more months, a few mores weeks, or maybe even a couple years at most. It was until whoever was after Peter (HYDRA,) was dead, or captured, and that could be a while. Clint tried to keep as good of contact as he could with them, but the harder he tried the seemed the harder it got to keep up with everything.

Since everyone had to stay at the compound for security reasons, unless they were being pulled out to go on a task mission that almost ended up with finding nothing, and the compound was never meant to house this many super-folk, people had to double up on rooms. He probably would’ve asked for him and Natasha to be roomies, but they both already had their own rooms, and Maria Hill seemed very insistent on sharing with her, so he and Scott were roommates.

He and Scott had already met, so things weren’t so awkward. They got arrested together, so they knew a bit about each other. Not much, but enough that they could have casual conversation here and there in between missions, naps, and facetiming their kids. Clint always got up early to make Pete breakfast, no matter what. The kid deserved some amount of consistency in this whirlwind of a year’s end. That and he wasn’t allowed to even go out of his room for cereal runs, so he had to keep him fed if no one else would. But he wondered if he was good enough for the poor kid.

The day before Christmas, he was sitting up on his bed. It was getting real late, but he couldn’t seem to close his eyes. It was about to be his kid’s first real Christmas without him. He knew things with him and Laura ended badly because she couldn’t understand what was wrong and what was right in the grand scheme of things, but he hoped she still gave the kids what he’d gotten them for Christmas.

Scott was hold up on his side of the room. He’d just gotten off the phone with his own daughter Cassie. Clint was on his side, trying to mind his own business while trying to pretend he wasn’t crawling out of his own mind with boredom, with a dash of anxiety somewhere in there.

“What’re you thinking about?” Scott asked, handing Clint a hot cup of tea.

“Shit.”

“I can feel that.” Scott sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed while he drank his own cup of tea. “You wanna talk about it?”

Clint deliberated for a moment in his mind. Taking a sip of his tea before he hissed out, “Aw, tea, no! That’s hot.”

“Yeah, you might let it cool off a bit first.” Scott snickered. Clint set his tea on the bedside table. There was a long rest in the conversation.

“How do you do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Get through your divorce. Everything around me just feels like it’s falling apart. I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to get out of it. I’m just a huge mess right now.” Clint sighed, eyeing the cup of tea, wishing his tea wasn’t so hot because then he wouldn’t be talking right now.

“Of course you do. It’s gonna feel shitty for a really long time. I’ve had years to get over it. My ex divorced me while I was still in prison and I didn't get to see my daughter the entire time I was locked up. Eventually feel okay about it but it doesn’t have to be right now.” Clint nodded a bit in silence. He was almost curled in on himself. “What else? Let’s get all of this out of the way now.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re a failure of a dad?”

“All the time. I’m always making mistakes, but that doesn’t define me.”

“Sometimes, I just start to wonder if taking Peter in was a mistake.” Clint whispered lowly.

“It wasn’t. I think you know that.”

“What if it was though? If I just let Fury put him in cryo like he’d wanted then he wouldn’t be in so much pain right now.”

“Maybe, but then maybe that Felicia would’ve gotten him and taken him to wherever her home base is. There’s a lot of different things that could’ve happened, that’s why sad fanfiction exists.”

“You’ve got really good advice, man.” Clint said, taking the cup of tea back into his hands and taking a sip once again, it had cooled down but it still burnt the top of his mouth.

“Maybe I was like a therapist in a past life?”

“Maybe.” Clint took a glance at the clock. 12:03. “Oh, hey, look, it’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, it is. You should give Peter his gift now. I’m pretty sure he’s still awake anyways.”

“Probably. Kid had the worst sleep schedule out of any of us. He never even slept when he lived with me, he just passed out whenever, half the time it wasn’t even near his bed.” Clint spoke, as he dug underneath his bed for the two poorly wrapped gift-box he’d gotten for his distant, adopted, son.

Walking around the compound so late at night was usually a little creep-inducing, but with the bright, warm, light emitted from the giant ass tree that sat in the first living room, and the gentle white fairy lights hung on the walls, it was hard to feel scared. The compound in December felt like you sucked in a cascading breath of genial nostalgia. Like, when you a certain smell lifts throughout the air and into your nose, propeling you backwards through time to one specific memory. A memory you’d thought you’d forgotten a lifetime ago.

Clint gingerly pushed open Peter’s door before slipping in. He closed the door behind him as softly as he could, not wanting to awake any of the neighbors. Clint smiled with the warmth of the Christmas lights as he looked down at the sleeping younger man. He set the presents down on his well kept desk and crouched down so he was eye level with the exhausted boy. He pressed his lips into the side of his face for a quick second.

“Sweet dreams, buddy.” He whispered to the almost peaceful looking boy, getting up and going to leave him alone. As his fingers went to wrap around the handle, Peter let out a large gasp, sucking in deep, greedy, breaths like he’d been underwater for hours. Clint was immediately back at his side. “Buddy, buddy, are you with me? We gotta take deep breaths, okay?”

“Clint?” Peter whimpered, a few stray tears had already rolled down his boney cheeks.

“I’m here. Breathe first, talk later, okay? In and out.” Clint spoke to him in a tender and fatherly tone. Peter only gave a soft nod to show that he understood. It took him a minute but his breathing evened back out. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s okay, buddy. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Nightmares. I get them all the time.”

“Really?” Peter asked in a shy, small tone that made him look like a child. Curled up in his duvet with his knees pulled to his chest and his eyes wider than a full moon on Halloween night.

“Yeah.”

“Are they about your dad?”

“Some of them.”

“Mine too.” Pete whimpered. Clint wiped a tear off of Peter’s cheeks quietly, in an understanding silence.

“Would you believe it’s Christmas already?”

“Yeah. It is December.”

“You’re right, buddy. You want something to eat? It is technically morning. Maybe I can sneak a couple of Sam’s mom’s cookies for you too.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes buddy. You should check out your desk, I think Santa left a present for you.” Clint stood once again and left, closing the door after himself.

Peter kicked the covers off of his overheated body, his heart still pounding through his ears despite his mostly calm and cool exterior. He stumbled out of bed for the first time since he’d improved the legs and onto the floor. Catching himself with both hands. It was still slightly surprising to see the prosthetic limb, but he’d gotten used to it by now. He pushed himself up so he was sitting on the hardwood flooring. His human going back to search for a way inside the metal arm.

When Peter had fallen asleep involuntarily, he dreamt vividly. Through his dreams is often where Peter got caught up with his old self. The beginnings of an indication of who he could’ve been before HYDRA swooped in and tainted his character so thoroughly. At least, that’s how it was most of the time. Other times, his subconscious mind just enjoyed to torture him for no real reason, and show him the stoic man he’d always hero-worship for some reason or another, or the actual torture he’d endured. But he hadn’t dreamt either of those two thing tonight. Tonight he dreamt of his auntie May and uncle Ben.

Peter stood on the tips of his toes in an attempt to see over the counter. In these dreams he was always so much smaller than he was now. He was clinging to the pant leg of his uncle, who was trying to multitask.

“When will Santa come?”

“After you’re long asleep, buddy.”

“Do you think mommy and daddy will come too?”

“I don’t know, Petey.” He sighed. The room was filled with the heavy scent of chocolate chip cookies.

“Pete! Come get ready for bed honey!” May called him and he waddled off to follow her voice. 

She helped him brush his teeth and climb into atom patterned jammies. Tucking him into bed with his stuffed Captain America bear, she grabbed his favourite book off his small shelf. May read it to him until his eyes started to droop. As she closed the book and set it aside, she got onto her knees and put her hands on either side of his tired face. Worry was in the small lines that started to form around her slightly aged face.

“Pete, I need, you to listen to me.” 

“Auntie what’s wrong?” He asked, his high pitched voice low with sleep.

“Something bad is gonna happen. You remember where home is right? 20 Ingram St, Forest Hills NY, 11375.” May yelled, tears streaming down her young face.

That’s when he had shot up, and Clint had been hovering over top of him. He closed the compartment on his arm, and set the tracker Tony had implanted on the table. 

“FRIDAY? Are you up?”

“Always, Peter.”

“Can you open the window for me?” Peter asked quietly. There was an onslaught of white falling down from the sky. Peter pulled on the only jacket in his closet and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“I don’t think I can do that, Peter, it is-”

“Please, FRIDAY?” He begged, his voice breaking.

“Your heart rate is elevated, it seems that you’re experiencing a panic attack. Would you like me to contact Barton, boss, or Barnes?”

“Don’t contact any of them! Just open the window!” He yelled, hurling his fist into the glass. A large crack was left in his wake.

“I cannot do that. Contacting boss and all awake Avengers.”

“Yeah, you go ahead and do that.” Peter breathed out shakily. There was a sound of running footsteps from down the hall coming straight for him that penetrates his ears. Pete formed a fist out of his titanium hand and slammed in against the window. The glass shattered in a rather loud display, and he stepped forward, through the hole left in his fist’s wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the comments and the kudos I really appreciate them so much. I'm writing the last few chapters rn hopefully I'll be done or close to by Friday which makes this thing like 30 ish chapters. also I'm looking for a beta currently so if you're interested then please drop a comment, I use google docs to write tho, so you have to be able to use a google account :)


	16. The Song for Sorrow

Tony struggled to get up as FRIDAY yelled something at him. He heard Peter’s name and his eyes shot open. He tried to listen to her but it wasn’t that far that she could get into her sentence before the alarms started to ring and all lights were automatically turned on. Tony was most definitely up after that, and he was calling his suit to him. 

“Okay FRIDAY, make it quick.”

“Boss, it seems that Peter has had a mild panic attack that caused him to act irrationally and jump out of his bedroom window.”

“Fuck! Okay. Can you see if he’s hurt?” Tony asked, running down to Peter’s room as the suit tried to follow after him.

“I can’t detect him at all, boss.”

“What do you mean you can’t detect him? He couldn’t have gotten far! Are you using the thermal heat scanners?” Tony growled angrily, throwing open Pete’s bedroom door.

“Of course sir, but he was only on the property for a total of eighteen seconds after he’d broken the window and jumped.”

“How fast can that little brat run?” Tony huffed. “FRIDAY I need you to go through every local camera, every gas station, every phone, and search for this kid. We cannot lose him.”

“Boss, we’re surrounded by forest, it might be a day before he shows up on any camera within my radius.

“Fuck it. I’ll do it myself. You tell everyone what’s going on, daddy is going for an early morning Christmas spider-hunt.”

“Yes boss.” FRIDAY said as the suit wrapped around him, and he flew out of the broken window which he’d have to call someone to repair later.

Tony spent five hours searching for the kid, and he felt by the end of it the closer he got to Peter’s trail, the farther he got from finding him. Tony hung the suit up when he got inside, being met with disappointed, and frustrated faces. Everyone looked tired, aged with stress, and wanting to argue or pick a fight with someone.

“Did you find him?” Fury asked him.

“No. He got away.” Tony spoke with a sharp edge in his tone. Fury looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself.

“What do we do now?” Bucky asked, a sense of hopelessness in his voice.

Peter ran past the point of not being able to breathe. He ran until he saw the old wood door, and the apartment number, rusted and barely hanging onto it. His hand hovered over it in a fist for a few minutes before taking the plunge into the deep end and feebly rapping on the aged and mold infected wood. He could hear shuffling behind it for a few moments before the door swung open to a reveal a very aged, auntie May.

“May-” Peter breathed out, tears welling up in his eyes. Warmth spilled all across his body like a bucket of paint as he basked in his older aunt’s glow.

“Your eye.” May pointed out, sending Peter through a loop. A snap of chills bit down his neck. He, being uneasy about the broken LED in his eye subconsciously covered it.

“May, it’s me. I’m home.” He tried to smile wide, but his lips were occupied and quipped with his panic. She panicked. 

“Monster!” She shrieked and slammed the door shut in his face. It was a mistake to come, because now he knew that everyone hated him.

Everyone would hate him for leaving against orders. Bucky hates him for shooting his boyfriend. Asset hates him for his faded loyalty. Finally, now May hates him for the monster HYDRA made him. Regular people don’t climb walls. Regular people don’t speak in short sentences almost all the time, they had control over themselves. They didn’t lash out, they didn’t care if people touched them without prompt, and not everyone in the world hates them. But Peter is not regular in any sense of the three syllable word, and no one would ever love him because of it. He bet even Ben hates him by now, as May tells him about the monster their nephew has become. He couldn’t hear if they were even talking at all, not over the pounding in his ears from the run and the sobs, heavy with anguish and loss, escaped his chapped lips.

From somewhere out of the recess in his mind, a song came to him. It parted his quivering, paled turquoise, lips, and left the air just a little bit colder in its wake. He wished the warm would enter him once again, but it went with every step he took to leave. The snow had left him wet and blue. He closed his eyes and tried to curl up in front of the door. When the song ended, or he stopped remembering, he felt light hit his face. Overtop of him, May stood.

“Peter? Is that really you?” She whispered in awe at the young boy sitting in the hallway across from her door. “What are you doing down there? Get up here, and hug your poor old aunt.” She cried out, a sad smile on her face.

Peter stood up as fast as he physically could, engulfing himself in the tightest hug he’d ever received in his life. His breath rattled in his chest, but so did hers as they cried on one another for a while. Maybe things weren’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if you're interested in beta'ing for me please leave a comment!! I really need one and it would be so appreciated!


	17. A Baby Boy With a Big Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for 69 subs

Bucky took one breath in and one breath out watching it hit the cool air and smoke out, his steps making loud crunching noises in the white snow below his feet. He’d gotten back from checking his traps for dinner. Food was often few and far between, but he’d caught two rabbits today, so maybe he and Mackie could both eat tonight. Mackie is what he named the kid. He couldn't just keep calling him “Machine” his whole life, and the kid didn’t talk a lot so he never told him his real name if he had one.

Bucky had started to remember stuff from his old life, before everything had happened. Like his friend Steve. God, he was a total dumbass, especially for an artist, and he thought they were all supposed to be stuck up, and posh. Bucky didn’t know if Mackie had started to remember yet, or if he had anything to remember at all since he was so young, but he hoped it was all happy things.

As he approached the house, stepping over the low, tripwire, he whistled him and Mackie’s little tune and opened the front door. He could hear the thumping of his boy’s crutches and smiled. Having a kid is kind of like having a dog, at least this kid was like a dog. He shut the door after himself and set his satchel that held dinner down on the floor for a moment. When he stood up, Mackie was already there, wrapping his arms around his legs tightly. The little wooden crutches leaned against the rotting wall.

“Hey Mackie.”

“Bub!”

“Want me to carry you?” Bucky asked the young boy, waiting for him to nod before scooping him up. “I got us dinner, you hungry?” He didn’t respond verbally but he rocked in his arms just enough to show his excitement, but not to fall straight onto the floor. “Okay, okay, Mackie. Lemme get it started, you wanna sit at the table?” Peter nodded again so Bucky walked over and sat him on the chair that was filled with old books. He gave him old crayons and a piece of black paper he’d found lying on the ground for him to play with. He set the crutches beside him when he went back for the satchel.

He cooked dinner in relative silence, Mackie’s crayons made scratching noises against the paper as he scribbled. He sat two plates down on the table, hovering over the boy’s shoulder for a moment to see what he drew. He smiled. “Looks like someone is going to be very talented when they grow up.” Bucky praised, seeing the boy’s eyes light up. He pointed at one man on the paper.

“Bub!”

“I see. Looks exactly like me. That’s you right?” Mackie nodded excitedly. There was four other people scribbled out of the paper, but he chose to ignore it. Setting Mackie’s plate down in front of him instead. “Eat up, Mack.”

They ate and Bucky helped the little boy wash his hands, and the little boy helped him wash all the dishes. A regular night for them. Bucky hoped he could catch more game tomorrow so he could have something to sell. It was December, after all, so Christmas was approaching, but not only that, they’d officially been on the run for six months without being caught it was cause to celebrate. He wondered if he could just bring Mackie into town to pick out his own toy, or if he should guess what he’s like to play with instead. Either way, he’d probably enjoy anything at all over the old puzzle pieces and glass dolls that had been left by the previous owners.

As the sun set, they managed to crawl into the broken bed that was probably riddled with bugs to sleep. For a moment, as he got comfortable, a sleeping Mackie stuck in his side, he thought he heard something other than the young boy’s unbothered breathing, maybe a deer snapping a branch. The next, he was certain he heard something. He shot up, scooping the boy up and running to the cellar as fast as he could, with as much evidence of their existence, all while trying to make as little noise as possible on rotting floorboards. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest when the men that had taken him and Mackie barged inside.

“Daddy?” Mackie called out, his eyes fluttering open. He wrapped a hand over the boy’s mouth. Daddy, he thought for a minute. He hadn’t ever called him that before, but tat was him now. He had to protect him

“You gotta be silent.” He whispered. They sat quietly until the cellar doors were ripped open, the light making their eyes sting.

Bucky screamed at the top of his lungs for them to not take his son, while the boy cried for him. He failed him, and this moment would be something that would forever be unchanging in his head, until it would be erased.

Bucky shot up, drenched in a cold sweat. 

“Bucky, are you okay?” Steve asked, sitting up in their bed.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m fine.” Bucky panted out, his hair sticking to his face.

In May’s old apartment, everything was exactly the same. Down to the smell, and the Christmas lights. She made him tea and chocolate chip cookies, and had him lay in her lap.

“Oh, you poor little thing.” She cooed over him, stroking his hair. “What did they do to you?”

“A lot, I don’t think you’d want to hear about it cause it’s gross.”

“You might be right Petey. You know, it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to keep me company, especially since after your uncle Ben passed.” Peter nodded a little, taking a cookie.

“Well I’m here now. You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

“You’re such a sweet little boy. I’m so sorry for how I reacted when I first saw you. It’s just that all over the news lately there’s been these super powered beasts out and about.”

“You don’t have to worry about them. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

“Such a little gentleman, you are!” May smiled and pinched his cheeks. “After I lost Ben I thought I’d lost everyone, and I was just gonna end up some crazy old cook! But you’re here! I can hardly believe it! Your mother would’ve been so proud of you.”

Peter nodded once again, looking away. He finished his cookie. May told him all about his mom, unprompted. He enjoyed it, hearing her talk. It was relaxing. Reassuring. She showed him his bed when it got dark out, and it was all the same, from his Tony Stark and Bruce Banner posters to his child sized library and his Cap bear sitting in his bed. It was singed and brunt from the crash, but it was there.

“Dearie me, I should have probably redone the room.”

“It’s fine May, I love it still.” He smiled, he was bigger than the bed but he just curled up. She read him a story just like she had in the dream. “You know, I met them.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Stark and Doctor Banner.”

“I’m sure you did. I hope they were nice to you.”

“The nicest. Dr. Banner’s boyfriend Thor hung out with me once.”

“Thor? That certainly sounds like a good catch. He currently is one handsome piece of man. Didn’t know that Dr. Banner was gay though.”

“What’s gay?”

“When two boys like each other, like your mommy and your daddy did.”

“Cool. Am I gay?”

“That’s up for you to decide dear, but if you are, I’ll still love you regardless.”

“Okay, auntie.” Peter nodded and closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

After Bucky calmed down from his dream, he got to thinking. Bucky thought about how he’d failed Peter, over and over again. He wants to stop the cycle of mistake after mistake. He had been afraid the entirety of the time that Peter was here that he’d do something to hurt him, but by running away from him, he hurt him. So, that’s why he approached Tony so early in the morning. 

“Stark.” He cleared his throat, entering his lab.

“Shit, who said you could come it here?” Tony jumped, he’d been working on something.

“Bruce.”

“Damn him. What do you want, greasy, I’m working on something.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“We’re talking right now. Could you be a little more specific?”

“I wanna talk about Peter.”

“I’m looking for him, okay? What more do you want? You and America’s Sweetheart haven’t exactly been helpful ignoring him.”

“I know that. I didn't come here to chew you out for doing nothing wrong. Do you know if he has any… living relatives?”

“Yeah. May Parker, she married his dad’s uncle.”

“Have you checked there yet?”

“Her house? No.”

“Don’t you think he’d want to run toward something familiar?”

“I don’t know, you tell me, he’s your kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for the comments and the kudos they mean so much to me


	18. The Omen and the Fury

It was amazing, to wake up, and not have it be from a nightmare. For the first time, he slept without dreaming at all, and he woke up to the scent of bacon wafting through the rickety apartment. He walked out of his old bedroom with a huge smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eyes as bright as the sun. He hadn’t been happy in a long time. Not this kind of happy. Another him had been happy to serve HYDRA, kill the innocent, take Bucky hostage and non lethally shoot Captain America, but his eyes were always blank. A picture taken with a muted color palette. 

When he ran away a week ago, he had nothing to live for other than hoping things would eventually shift tides, and stop being so horrible. Now he has May, and that’s enough for him. Peter sits down at the table, where May sits across from him and they both ate. May told him stories. Sometimes she told him the same story, over and over again, all day long. He assumed that was just something that came with getting on in age. He didn’t swap stories with her though, he preferred if the conversations were mostly one sided, and they were, like the cabin he and Bucky had a lifetime ago. Peter can’t find it in himself to miss that. It was another life, this is his life now, and he was going to hold onto it no matter how hard it would try and buck him off.

“Petey, have you given school any thought?”

“A little. I was going for a little while, but that was before a thing happened.”

“Do you want to go to school, dear? I’m sure you could get into a nice one. I know how much you loved anything with the word “science” in it when you were just a little person.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. The Avengers, or whatever they’re even called, they’re after me, and after this, and what I did before, I don’t think they’ll let me off so easy.”

“Petey, sweetheart, I wouldn’t ever let them hurt you. Not so long as I live.”

“May I know that, but you don’t get it. If my name shows up anywhere they’ll know about it. If my face appears on anything, they’ll know about it. Hell if my thermal heat signature shows up on a scan, they’ll know. Not even just them, there’s other people, the guys that made me look like this, a monster, a freak, they’re after me too!” Peter snapped, he couldn’t look at her. He felt immediate regret. He shouldn’t have done that. “You can’t protect me. I shouldn’t have come.”

“I can protect you Pete. I might be a crazy old cat lady, who’s lost just about every damn thing she thought she had, but you can’t underestimate a woman trying to protect the one good thing she’s got left in her life.”

“Yes, auntie. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sweetie. You’re still a little thing. It’s okay for you to be dumb from time to time, I know you’ll grow up to be the smartest man in the world.”

“Thank you, auntie.”

“Finish up your breakfast now, it’s getting cold.” Peter nodded, and shoved the rest of his breakfast down his throat without blinking twice. He washed the dishes afterwards. He liked feeling like he had a purpose.

He spent everyday with May and her kitties, of which she had six, and it was nice. May got him books and clothes the day after he’d arrived, which he tried to tell her was something she shouldn’t have done, but May made a few great points when she said that he couldn’t live in a soaked sweater and jeans his whole life. She gave him some of Ben’s clothes too. They were big, but they smelled just like him still after ten years of being shoved into the back of the closet and the back of her mind.

Peter had a particular fondness to Omen, an all black stray that was most times very cuddly, and tried to eat anything and everything. The list of things Omen has tried to eat included a piece of string with a needle at the end, Pumpkin’s tail, and some moldy bread the pigeons didn’t eat. 

So, while he sat with Omen on his lap, reading through another one of his college level science textbooks on human biology, it was weird to feel a sudden tingle down the center of his spine. He sent it down on the coffee table. It made a loud “slap” as it plopped down, scaring off Omen, and sending her off into another direction. It was odd, to feel the sense when he knew he was not in any immediate danger, but that probably just worse. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, and taking heavier breaths. No one should know he’s here, nothing bad could happen here. Unless of course someone had found him, but that must be impossible, he never showed his face anywhere, he never even went outside.

“May?”

“Yes dear?”

“Does anyone know I’m here?”

“No, not at all, dear, why?”

“I think- I think someone is after us. After me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have this sixth sense, I can predicts when bad things are gonna happen, or when they’re about to happen. We need to leave. I-I need to go, if they don’t see that I was here than they can’t hurt you right?” Peter started off rambling, his face a bright shade of porcelain, and his eyes were red rimmed and teary.

“Petey, dearie, slow down.” May spoke slowly, rubbing circles in Pete’s shoulders. “You think there’s someone coming for us?”

“No, May, I know someone is after us.”

“Okay then we’ll back everything we need and we’ll leave. I know one woman from book club who wouldn’t mind taking in a couple extra cuddly friends.”

“May if-if you come you know that they won’t rest until they find you and take you in. Dead or alive. Right?”

“Petey-pie, I’d already be a dead woman if I have to watch you leave and never come back again. I was a dead woman long before you found me.”

“I love you, May.”

“I love you too, Petey. How about we go pack now?” Peter nodded and they did exactly that.

Peter soon found he was right. Leaving five minutes before their apartment building was swarmed with agents scouting for him or May. They both wore their thick winter coats and covered their faces as she and Pete, but more so for Pete, walked away from another life lived. Peter felt an anxious pounding against his rib cage while the wind bit at his neck. He kept his eyes shifting constantly, making sure he and May went unseen.

Something, or someone caught his sleeve, though. It was sturdy, stoic looking man with a strong jawline, and a big nose who’d grabbed him. Peter feels like he knows him but he doesn’t want to find out.

“You need to come with me and Fury, kid, or you’re not going to have that choice later.”

“That doesn’t make it sound like a choice at all.” Peter retorted, his voice weak and panicked.

“It is one, because later isn’t gonna be fun for either of us, kid. I didn’t have a choice when I did what I had to do in Afghanistan. You do.”

“How about I take the third option of which I get a goddamn happy ending?” Peter ripped his arm from the man.

“I think you and I both know you’re not lucky enough to evade anyone for too long. Not with a face like that.”

“Try me.” Peter growled before taking off with May. He didn't try and follow them.

“Who was that man?” May asked him as they rushed along, trying to find a taxi that would be willing to take them out of the city.

“No one we need to worry about.”

They managed to stuff their things into a yellow cab and drive off. They rode until the cab driver wouldn’t drive any further, and they climbed out. They still had a ways to go, but for now, they have their freedom.

“How has he managed to get away again?” Fury asked in a fiery rage. He wanted this overly drawn out situation dealt with.

“Who knows. You ever think we should just let him get away?” Clint murmured. 

“And what, let him do whatever he wants? Get taken by HYDRA, again, and put back through his programing, so that way the next time we see him he isn’t running away from us he’s running at us and we’re given no choice but to kill him?”

“You were gonna kill him anyways.”

“Barton, do you need a reminder that cryo stasis isn’t murder? Or am I the crazy person here?” 

“It might as well be! Do you even know why he ran in the first place?”

“No. Would you care to inform me?”

“I sure as hell would. He heard you say the words “cyro” and “stasis” in the same sentence and had a panic attack. He told me about how he woke up half frozen, half alive in an empty facility in Romania.”

“And so what, everything is my fault now?”

“Well you certainly haven’t helped anything!”

“Guys,” Maria spoke up over their argument. “The task force did a sweep of Queens, they didn’t find anything. No one ever saw his face. Most didn’t even know May had a nephew or any family in the past. The team is going home.”

“Good. They should.” Clint muttered, his arms crossed over his chest as he shuffled out of the worn down apartment.

While everyone was starting to head out, Bucky trailed behind, sneaking into the kid’s bedroom. It feels weird, seeing something to private. Something he never got to learn about from Peter’s own mouth. He had a Captain America themed room and Bucky laughed quietly because of the irony of his situation. A few stray tears rolling down his face while he sat down on the patterned sheets, picking up the poorly treated Captain America teddy bear. As if by natural instinct Steve knew he was crying, he snuck into his boy’s bedroom too, sitting alongside him. 

“I didn’t want any of this to happen.” Bucky whimpered out pathetically. He should've done something. Steve doesn’t say anything, but he doesn't have to. Instead just providing a warm shoulder to cry on, which he used. “Things were supposed to get better.”

“They will, Buck.”

“How do you know? He’s gone, and it’s my fault.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Bucky.”

“Do what?”

“Try and take on all the world’s problems and put yourself at the forefront of it all like it’s about you. He made his decision, he’s grown, we just have to adapt to that.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“What?”

“Act like he’s an adult! Like he knows what he’s doing! He doesn’t! He’s about as dumb as you half the time, and the other half he’s as dumb as a kid because that’s literally what he is! Don’t you tell me that this isn’t my mistake because it is. He’s my kid. I need to be the one to bring him in.”

“Okay, Bucky.” Steve said solemnly, getting off the bed. His efforts to comfort seeming to only cause more sorrow. He left without apologizing.

Bucky suddenly wanted to take his outburst back. He didn’t want to bring in Pete. He didn’t want things to end in a fight, but they always did. All Bucky wants to do is reverse time and manage to escape for real with him and watch him grow up and forget everything that ever happened, but he didn’t have the time stone and Doctor Strange probably wouldn’t let him anyways. He feels silly cuddling up to a child’s stuffed toy of his boyfriend, but it was the closest to the kid he would be getting for a while. It smelled like gasoline, fire, and his boy.

Bucky cleared his bleary eyes and found a discarded sticky note by the trash can. It was for him, he could tell by the clearly scripted “папа” at the top of it. He read through it quickly, then he read through it a few times more. He’d find Peter, he had too. He’d bring him home and then they would finally have a happy ending, like they always got in Stevie’s Disney films, but it would be their happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry I didn't update my hamster had a seizure


	19. A Little Roma

In Peter and Bucky’s time on the run, and during his time as a HYDRA spy, the younger boy had learned quite a lot about the art of lying lower than the dirt. Being so average, and so calm looking that you were almost invisible. May on the other hand, had no experience at all in such a department, having all the tall tale clues of someone on the run from something big. Almost every move she made, almost every time she spoke, she had a giveaway. It forced Pete to take control, which he hated. Everytime a situation was in his court, he fumbled, and tripped, and got people hurt, or worse, killed. 

Peter talked for the both of them, he did anything she needed and she held him close. He hoped she didn’t regret that she came with him, but he doesn’t have the ability to read people’s minds, so he didn’t know. Maybe it was just reality setting in for her, that she could never go back to the apartment. It had been a long time since Peter had first had to give up his life, and he’d given up so many of his lives in the past he was numb to it. He could acknowledge that losing part of your world, and leaving the planet to live somewhere new, was frightening but they’d get through.

May was also getting on in her years, so he had to find shelter for her or she would freeze. Luckily, he could carry up to thirteen tons and run consistently at thirty miles per hour. So, they soon found an old house to take cover in for the rest of the day, maybe more if they were lucky. They weren’t. During their second day he almost thought he could hear the sound of boots stomping their way through the forest terrain. So Peter kept them moving constantly for at least a week before he let up and let them settle, running at least three days past the abrupt relaxing of the biting on the back of his neck.

Peter set up traps like Bucky showed him once when they were on the run, but the winter brought about little to eat in the north, so they moved further south during the week. May and him finally settled in a place called Mississippi. It was close the the equator, so they’d stay warm, there wasn’t too many people where they were settled, and there was plenty of jack rabbits to catch. All his little boxes were checked.

May liked to cook, so he let her most of the times unless she was particularly exhausted. She now, unlike before they left the apartment, looked at him with a greater fullness of sorrow and understanding. She saw through his scale-d skin and in down deep into her nephew. She could grasp, even if it was just a minor percentage, that this had been his life once before. She saw just a little, a little bit that he didn’t want her to see. His anxious, exhausting life where his eyes never stopped shifting to the left and to the right. Maybe, someday soon that little bit, those frayed edges in the masterpiece of a persona he could build, (the “Perfect Nephew, tattered and worn from warfare but still loveable,”) she could poke holes through, would be too much for her to bare. He didn’t want to be alone, and that scared him because he wasn’t like this just a few days before. He didn’t wanna keep changing, but the rainclouds never clear when you ask God for them to. The rain keeps pouring over your skin too hot, reminding you of something you’d pray too forget, until it’s time for the sun and the moon’s heroic return to the limelight. 

May smiled at him still. She laughed. She told him the same story, three days consecutively. He held onto that when he could. He started drawing again when he found a piece of paper in the floorboards, and a pencil on the desk, but he gave up when all he could draw was imagery pulled from another life, one that was not his to hold, nor would it ever would be. It was time to forget, but how could he when his heart ached like this. He’d never felt such a sensation of loss. That’s what it was right? Loss? He lost his chance, he gave it up when he hit Flash. He lost Cooper, Nathaniel, Laura, Ned, and Michelle. He shot Steve, he lost Bucky for good, but did he ever really have him? He lost his parents, Richard and Mary. He left, he lost Tony, Clint, Thor, Bruce, and the lady with the red hair that pretended not to notice him, but she left him hot cocoa a few times when he was allowed to move around the building. He found himself almost wishing that the man and his assistant that had started the mess of a monster he’d been made into where here just to but him back into The Chair so he didn’t have to think about anything anymore. So he could simply just mindless.

May wanted to go to a restaurant. A small little diner she’d caught eye of when they’d first come to town. She told him it’d be good for the both of them to eat something other than rabbits, fish, and berries for once. It took at least a week of suggestion for him to say yes. Peter knew better, but he figured once couldn’t hurt, besides, May would enjoy herself. All he wanted was to see her happy after everything he’d already put her through. 

The diner was small and rundown, but May put a wrinkled hand on his back and walked with him inside. If they could stay here without being found, maybe he and May could get a job under a different name, make a thing of eating at the dinner on whatever today was, and just breathe for a minute or two. It was a nice line of thinking, that he wishes he could promise into existence. 

They sat down inside, and they were given menus. The waitress was friendly, and patient with them. May wasn’t acting so obvious, she smiled at her, and didn’t stumble over her words too badly. After all, it had been a little while, maybe no one would remember? They ordered, ate their food, paid, and got ready to leave. On their way out, May asked if she could apply to work there. While May scribbled out her fake name and information on the white sheets of paper, one of the waitress looked him up and down with a smile.

“You know,” She said, her arms wrapping around her chest. “You look exactly like that Romanian kid they’re looking for on the news.”

His heart stopped in his chest, but he’d still play it off. “Really? I don’t see the resemblance.”

“It’s kind of eerie how similar you two are. How am I sure you aren’t him?” She spoke seriously, but her face cracked into a smile, it didn’t even register that she was kinding. 

“Well, I don’t kill people so…”

“Relax, kid, I’m just joking around with you. You two are both awfully high strung for newcomers.”

“Don’t worry about it then, we’ll be out of your hair soon.” Peter huffed, and rushed out of the diner with May.

As soon as they got back to the cabin it was back to packing. May was upset. She didn’t want to leave again and got back to running. She couldn’t take it anymore, but this was the life she’d chosen. He wished she understood that.

“Just because she thought you looked like yourself doesn’t mean we have to go back to running!” She argued, trying to get him to slow to veracity of his clean up.

“No. That’s exactly what it means. If anyone suspects anything at all then we have to leave, our lives is the top priority, not comfort, May. There is no softness in living on the run.”

“What if we just pretend it never happened?”

“The police won’t pretend when they get a call for suspicious activity! I told you that if you didn’t want to live like this that you didn’t have to come. I’ve done this before, I know how to be on the run, so you have to listen to me May. If we get caught then there’s no telling what they could do to us. To you. And I have to protect the one good thing I have in my life.”

May let out a tired, withered sigh. Peter felt guilt rise through his chest. He should’ve made her stay in her apartment, where she could’ve pretended that she’d never even seen him and she could live out her life with her job as a nurse, going to book club, and drinking tea with Omen on her lap.

“Okay, dear.”

May helped him pack their stuff up, and burn any remaining evidence they’d lived there at all.. Before the sun had even started to hang lower than the center of the sky, they were gone. With a stomach full of something other than rabbit meat and berries, they made their way further south, into the desert.

When the task force arrived on the tip, all the proof they had of Peter being there was his DNA on the fork he’d eaten off of, and the video on the pair entering and exiting the diner. They searched the entire town, asked everyone questions. Nothing was what they came up with, but in a dusty cabin, Bucky found an badly burnt drawing of himself and had hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Houdini my hamster just passed away yesterday I was really hoping she'd pull through her stroke again but she couldn't. RIP a Dinio may you forever eat the capitalists in Hamster Hel, comrade.


	20. The Great Plains

They traveled across the great span of land, Peter feeding into the incessant biting on the back of his neck. They left the state and ran south through Texas. They both agreed that they would need to flee the country if they ever wanted a happy middle ground between constantly on edge and content.

May told him all about what she heard about Mexico and all of the different south american countries. All with their very own different and unique cultures and cuisine that she’d love to see and love to try. He was excited for her. They’d be safe there, and he could translate a bunch of different languages for her so they could keep comfortable. He could get a job doing construction or something like that, make money so she could spend her time in the sun.

The burning sand was a terracotta shade underneath their feet. Occasionally a cloud passed over head, or a tumble weed rolled by, Peter tried to keep May hydrated as best he could with what little water they had. In the distance they saw people with guns, and they saw him. Panic rushed through him, and soon because he couldn’t risk May’s life, they were captured.

Border Patrol. That’s who took them in because they didn’t have any identification on them, but because their faces were apparently everywhere they very quickly learned who they were. Peter was immeasurably upset with himself, but he had to find a way out, and that’s not something he can do when he’s unfocused, so he pushes everything out of his skull once again. They separated him and May, and he hoped they didn’t hurt her, he hoped she was safe, and she wasn’t scared, because he was. Peter was very, very scared, but never for himself, because that’s not what matters. He doesn’t matter.

The Border Patrol had him in an industrial grey room that was rather poorly lit. He was handcuffed to a table by both hand, and his feet were chained down as well. He couldn’t help the biting on the back of his neck and the panic that came over him with involuntary confinement. He couldn't help the need he felt to simply just pop the restraints off and free himself and run, but he couldn’t do that. Not while risking May’s safety, and that’s not a risk he’s ever willing to take, but Border Patrol would eventually have to hand him off to The Avengers, who very well just might find a permanent solution to the stabbing pain he caused in the side of the organization and their lives. He had no clue how long he’d even be there, but he knew that at the first chance he saw to, he and May would have to escape.

After a while, a middle aged man dressed in a suit walked in, sitting down in the only empty chair in the room.

“Hello, my name is Phil Coulson, I work with The Avengers, you may know them. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay with you.” Phil spoke, Peter didn’t respond. “Can I get you anything? Water? Apple juice?” Phil waited for Peter to say something, anything really, but he didn’t speak. “I take it you don’t like to talk much? I can respect that. I hope you don’t mind if I sit here and read with you.”

So they sat like that. With Phil reading a small pocket book that looks like it had been through hell in complete silence. Peter wondered what game he was trying to play with his head, trying to get him to say something?

“You know, I used to work with your mom and dad.”

“... Really?” Peter said after a while, his eyes lighting up at his parent’s mention.

“Agent Mary Fitzgerald and Agent Richard Parker. They were some of the best agents I knew.”

“What were they like?”

“They were great people, kind, passionate about their work, and they loved nothing in the world more than you. After you were born, and they decided to continue their work with SHIELD, everyone either fell in love or just wanted to get a couple hours out of doing actual work and wanted to get their shot at babysitting you when they were out, and your aunt and uncle had work. You were too young to remember it, but I got to feed you apple sauce once. Got out of going to class, so I owe you a thank you.”

“What… what did they do for SHIELD?” He asked, not knowing what that even was.

“Richard was a geneticist, level five, Mary was a combat and espionage specialist, level seven.” Peter nodded, looking over the chains over his wrists for a few moments. Suddenly, there was a key, and a hand setting him free. Peter pulled his hands and his feet from where the cuffs had kept them, rubbing over the imprints left in their wake.

“Why?”

“I have reason to believe that you’re not a risk to anyone. In fact, I believe if anyone, I think you’re the least dangerous person at this base.”

“B-but… I hurt people everywhere I go. I kill people!” 

“And you hate that about yourself. You haven’t attacked anyone that hasn’t attacked you back since your run in with Captain America, but you weren’t in control of that were you?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ve seen Mr. Barnes running around. He’s looking for you.”

“Yeah, he probably hates me by now.” Peter chuckled sadly.

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ve got him running around looking for when he’s got better things to do, and I shot his boyfriend too.”

“He could never hate you, Pete. You’re his son, he loves you, unconditionally.” 

Peter didn’t look at him, he could never look anyone in the eyes anymore. “… You really think that?”

“I do, Pete.”

“What do you think they’ll do to me?”

“They might want to have some answers to a few questions they have. They might want to put you on lock down for a while, so that way no one that’s looking for you can get to you.”

“And… May?”

“Your aunt? She’ll get a ride on The Bus back to New York, if that’s where she wants to go. She’ll be able to visit you whenever she wants too.” Peter nodded a little.

“Can I take you up on that offer for water?” Peter asked softly. 

“Of course.” Phil smiled and stood up, the chair groaning against the concrete floor as he pushed it in. He soon disappeared behind the grey door.

Peter waited out in the quiet. He could hear faintly through the sound proofed walls, which means they did excellently. Jumbled, unintelligible conversation, and boots smacking against the floors. After a while, but not so long, the lights went off, and emergency backup lights went up along with a siren that made created an agitated ringing throughout his skull. Peter got up from his chair and made his way to the door. He turned the handle and found it was unlocked. He peered into the hallway and saw chaos, which he effortlessly slipped into. Maybe he and May could make it out the country before anyone noticed.

He surfed through the rolling waves of people running, trying every door to get to May. He soon found her in a room much like his, sitting all alone with tears all down her face. They wouldn’t have time to rummage through everything Border Patrol had stolen from innocent immigrants to find their things, but he had time to hug her tightly before he pulled on her arm to drag her behind himself.

“I thought they were going to do something horrible to you!” May cried out. She wanted to hold her nephew as tight as she could and never let go for as long as she lives, but they had to leave.

“I thought the same thing about you. Met a really nice guy though, he told me about how he met my parents once. I think we’ll have time to get out before anyone realizes, but we can’t get our things.”

“I don’t care about my stuff, I’m just so glad you’re okay!” She sobbed as she tried to stay in pace with her much younger nephew.

“Me too.” He breathed, throwing open doors to hallways until he found the back exit, seeing the long stretch of desert ahead. He smiled and took in a deep breath of hot air for a moment before running ahead.

He was running to freedom, palms outstretched to heaven like daggers to a thunderous, and warning skyline. Purple made up his vision with the cobalt clouds hanging overhead the terracotta sands. God’s warnings went unheeded as the young boy let his feet follow the paths of cutting winds that came before him while his skyline went from red and blue to charcoal, congealed, blood red, and a gunmetal grey.

Where does hope go when it leaves your chest? What does it leave behind inside of you? A bitter, cold, primal, fear that bites into the back of your neck while you’re thrown onto your knees with several guns pointed to your chest. A sore throat, when you scream your desperate plea until your voice quits you, and only allows delicate, broken sobs to escape you. 

“Take the shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment if you think you know what's going on. I finished writing a grand ol epilogue for this thicc bitch she's like


	21. Open Casket Rebirthing

Bucky let his mind go, and let his fists pound harder and harder into the punching bag in the compound’s gym. He was tired, bags heavy around his eyes, but he was focused. He could tell that Natasha was watching him, he heard her walk in, but he ignored her. All he wanted was to lose himself for the moment and not think about the endless list of things that were currently going wrong in his life.

“Steve’s worried about you,” Natasha says.

“When he isn’t?”

“That’s a good point, but he might just come to me all snot-nosed next time if you keep ignoring him.”

“He can handle it. He isn’t a baby.”

“But Peter is?”

“Just cause he’s thirty-two, or whatever the fuck, don’t make him no goddamn adult.”

“Never said it did.”

“If he could just stay in one damn spot none of this would’ve happened.”

“You can’t blame him for not wanting to be in such… unwelcoming company. I would’ve done the same thing if I were him.”

“I don’t blame him, I blame myself.”

“And that’s why you feel such a need to make things right?” Natasha said in less of a questioning or suggesting way but more of a statement, one of which was true. Bucky threw one more punch that sent the bag flying.

“Why are you down here?” He snapped.

“Border Patrol in Texas contacted us not too long ago saying they caught two people attempting to cross the border on foot, lacking ID, that matched our provided description of Peter and May.”

“Did we get confirmation on that?”

“Coulson was passing through the area when we got the information, he’s heading down there now.”

“Why’re you telling me this?”

“You were the one that said you needed to make things right. Let’s go and make them that way.” Natasha smiled faintly.

The flight there was relatively short, they didn’t need to pack anything, but the longer they spent on that plane the more and more Bucky anxiety beating down full forced and open-palmed onto his back. “What if’s” clouded his mind while other people moved around and chatted with each other. He was supposed to happy. Why wasn’t he happy?

When they arrived, he could tell something was wrong, he wasn’t alone in that. Entering the building, warm bodies cluttered the floor and crimson emergency lights blinked. He could tell at one point sirens had been set off, but the wires were cut, so help could never come. Some people were still alive, but barely holding on. They found Coulson in the kitchen, mostly uninjured. A bullet had grazed his shoulder, but he would be fine. Bucky wasn’t concerned with him though. He stepped over the bodies and ran through the corridors, throwing open doors, looking for his boy.

When he stepped out the exit, the sky let out a giant, thunderous roar. Lighting crackling against the dark skyline. There was one body laying out in the dirt, covered and the rain. Blood pooled out from their head and across the red sands.

May was dead. It was his fault. If he hadn’t done what he had then none of this would’ve happened. Her last words still banged on pots and pans inside his head. He just lost his one thing, his one thing he had to protect no matter what. Call him a failure, or pathetic, because that’s who he is if he has one mission but he ruins it almost immediately.

He doesn’t know who’s taken him, or more importantly who killed May, but it wasn’t HYDRA. No, he knew that beast, being in its belly for so long, he knew what his own looked like. After killing May, they knocked him out, but he was never out for long. They must’ve anticipated this, as they locked him in a pitch black coffin, and injected him with something that dulled his senses. Not their style. Not at all.

So, when the coffin opened, and he saw his case scientist sitting over top of him through the blinding lights of a lab, he was surprised. He had his disgustingly wide smile sketched across his face, his latex-gloved fingers running over Peter’s face.

“Oh, Spider.” Doctor Wescott hissed through his teeth. “It’s excellent to see you.” Peter sat up, he felt like he was dying. He couldn’t go through this, he didn’t want to forget again. He wanted the pain of knowing over the joy of serving, he decided.

“Shh, my sweet Spider.” Doctor Wescott said, gripping Peter’s shoulder. “What did they do to you, my darling?” He asked while Peter whimpered quietly, soldiers hauled him out of the coffin and across the lab, to The Chair. “Don’t worry, I will fix you.”

The two soldiers strapped him into The Chair. It wasn’t like he had any way to fight back, but god did he want to. He took notice of their patch and the lack of the red on it. Instead, there was a greyed depiction of Hive. This was not home.

“After we lost all the Assets and the Machines I thought my days of science were over, but thankfully, the old heads passed, and new ones replaced them. New heads that took quite a special interest in my work.” Dr. Westcott monologues. “And they certainly took an interest in you, my sweet, Spider. Soon, you’ll be good as new, now, relax, and maybe it won’t hurt as much.” He chuckled while shoved the black rubber mouth guard in between his teeth and flicked The Chair on.


	22. The Smoke

Everyone is upset. Innocent people are dead and no one has a single damn clue who took the kid, except for Tony, because Jesus Christ how could he not? All these years and he still barely knew what the point was for them? Global domination? Fuck if he knew. Is it possible he’d find the answer at the bottom of his bottle? Unlikely, but anything can happen. Really though. Phil Coulson came back to life, and everyone certainly felt some sort of way finding out a few years back. Tony just kinda wants to wrap him in the world’s largest sheet of bubble wrap so he can’t hurt himself anymore. The guy is certainly springy for a dead man, he’ll give him that though. 

Phil was currently in the Medbay getting patched up and dotted on by every SHIELD associate in a fifty-mile radius. Tony managed to even get to listen in on Fury’s grand chew out. The guy’s such a chill master for being Director, he could probably teach them how to Hulk become a zen guru. But that’s not the point. When Phil was ready, everyone that could be of any use other than throwing a good punch or two was locked out of the conference room for debriefing. Tony needed SHIELD’s new “resources” yesterday and SHIELD needs everyone to be on the top of their game to get in the game.

And despite taking care of the kid as his own for several months, Clint wasn’t deemed “worthy” of the debrief. All he got was whispers that Peter was gone again despite the fact that Coulson had him. So, it was easy to say that he was just a bit pissed off. He should be allowed to know what’s going on. He wasn’t allowed to even hang out with his own kids for this, he should be able to know how the one he was allowed to see was. Maybe this was for blowing up in Fury’s face, but he couldn’t regret that less. Hell even Nat and Wanda were in debrief while he wasn’t. What more could they know about him that he didn’t already? He loves them both, but he couldn’t imagine anyone, except for Bucky, actually knowing anything about the kid. Tony and Bruce knew he was smart and capable, Thor knew he had a passion for learning about new things and a strange obsession with rain, Wanda knew his worst memories, Natasha, Maria and Steve knew what he could do, and Coulson held him once as a baby, but have any of them had to sit with Peter, calming him down while he had a panic attack because he accidentally broke something? Or had to sit in the tub with him, at exactly lukewarm temperature to get him to bathe, because if the water was too cold, or too hot, or if he was alone he’d spiral into a panic attack? They hadn’t. They never would have to.

Clint could feel the heavy throbbing between his brows as he got angrier and angrier, with absolutely everything being considered “on a need to know” basis. He was essentially stuck with Scott, who he again, didn’t hate, but he didn’t like him either, and his positivity about just being here was starting to eat away at his nerves. So Clint sat in the living room, feet on the coffee table, arms crossed over his chest and a pout that could certainly revival the best five-year-olds.

“Mr. Barton, boss requires you on the Helicarrier,” FRIDAY announced.

“Oh yeah? What for?” 

“Classified. I imagine you’ll be filled in as you make your way to your destination.”

So, Clint threw himself off the couch and trudged his way to the Helicarrier. Inside, most were already there, rushing around to prepare for taking off. Soon, they were off the ground and everyone was dividing up into their own little groups like this was a high school lunch room instead of an important mission. The only one left out of this arrangement was Scott, so Clint sat beside him without a word. If he had to assign them a label they were the unspoken losers of the group. Pretty good for someone’s self-esteem. 

Continuing with this high school metaphor, (making Tony the principal, which is a bad analogy, because really, who’d ever put that guy in charge of anything?) he was called into a room off to the side. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and his frown traced in his lips. He couldn’t bear to pretend he wasn’t pissed, but he was saving it for later.

“Hey Clint,” Tony said, he was sitting down, a cup full of liquor in his hands.

“What do you want?” Clint hissed, he didn’t care too much for small talk at the moment.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah? I thought I wasn’t important enough to know.” Clint puffed angrily. 

“Not important? No. You’re too emotional, and it’s getting in the way of your focus.”

“The little dude I thought of as my son was kidnapped by HYDRA? How much more focused do you think I can get? The only thing I can focus on is my screw up and how I’m going to fix it.”

“You and Barnes would really get along right about now. Also, you really shouldn’t assume that it’s HYDRA.”

“I guess I would know without having to assume shit let me in the meeting about this entire thing!”

“The reason you weren’t allowed in was that everyone knows you would’ve started lashing out like this. Phil told me to tell you everything now so that way when we arrive to kick whoever did this ass, you wouldn’t be already burnt out.”

“Okay.” Clint huffed. “What’s the mission then?”

They soon arrived at an old warehouse in Honduras, where SHIELD had found evidence of increasingly suspicious activity since Peter’s disappearance. The team decided to have Bucky and Clint lead the search for Peter. Most likely, he wouldn’t kill them if they could jog his memory, everyone else was on the scramble to arrest and subdue as many bad guys as they could.

Shots firing in almost every direction was something that was just expected. None of them were new to a battlefield at this point. As the smell of metal rose through the air and left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouths. Clint and Bucky pulled ahead of everyone, knocking open every door trying to find their kid. Cap chastised Tony for chattering over the comms while he took out several well-armed men on the south side of the building while they inched through the rapidly emptying building.

They soon found the lab, the last place in the building they’d search. There were at least a dozen cryostasis chambers throughout the room. They were all filled with Felicia clones that looked as though they were still in an embryonic state. Clint looked over the room while Bucky flipped through the log Dr. Wescott kept on his desk. His face flushing with a deep, red-hot anger. Clint ignored him for the moment, instead of taking notice of the empty chamber, pink liquid pooling out around it in an awfully sticky mess. It looked to be the same liquid that surrounded the other chambers.

“Do you think he’s still here somewhere?”

“No. They saw us coming.”

“God damn it!” Clint cursed, kicking the dumb cryo chamber before hissing in pain. “Aw, dumb chamber!”

“We should take the files.”

“Yeah, maybe there’s something about the other facilities in there?”

“Maybe.” Bucky shook his head and scooped up as much of Dr. Wescott’s scientific log as possible and a few other papers littered about his desk.

From the shadows of the one well-lit room, a flash of brown and peach was flung from the ceiling down at Clint. It hissed and sneered at him as it tried to bite and scratch him. Clint threw it off of him, but not before getting a good look into its eight brown eyes. It shook itself off easily.

“Is that…?” Clint proposed in a soft tone.

 

“Peter!” Bucky gasped in horror, setting down the papers to try and help Clint

The naked creature let out a monstrous roar and ran back at Clint, trying to pull him apart with his four extra arms. Clint attempted to hit him over the head with his baton but it simply cracked over his skull and broke in half. His jaws snapped open as he tried to dig his fangs into Clint’s neck. A green tinted poison dripping his unnaturally pale face.

“Take the shot!” Clint called out to Bucky as he struggled with the monster that wore his son’s face.

“I-I can’t!” Bucky sobbed out, his gun trained on its head regardless. 

As Clint’s arms weakened, and he was left unable to continue fighting off the enhanced teenager off, he thought about how these were his last moments. But when he reopened his eyes, which he hadn’t known he’d closed in the first place, he found a heavy body laying on his chest, and blood gushing down the side of his neck. He threw the dead body off himself and onto the linoleum tiles.

The mission would be marked as a failure for most, but they managed to revive quite a lot from the facility, and to sent the New HYDRA scrambling for cover for the moment, but Bucky and Clint mostly just felt regret for not being fast enough to get to Peter. Even if the better half of them knew there was nothing they could have possibly done. Bucky feels especially guilty, considering he shot Peter. Well, not Peter, but it had his face, and that feels almost as bad, and especially grating at his old heart.

That night Clint and Bucky sat up out on one of the balconies, smoking a pack of cigarettes together against all better judgment, but what more did they possibly have to lose. Bucky’s gone and pushed everyone he cares about so far away he doesn’t even know how to reach out, and Clint’s done almost the exact same thing. Life sucks. So, they swapped stories about their boy with each other, instead of being held by their respective lovers in their beds, blowing out smoke into the night air.


	23. Barely Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has a reference to childhood sexual abuse at the end if this triggers you please skip to the end where i've summarized so you don't miss out on anything!

The divorce was finalized on Valentine’s day, which was just awfully ironic. Since then, the world’s scale has been tipping closer and closer toward chaos then balance, but when has it not? The public doesn’t know if they can trust The Avengers, even with the Sokovia Accords in place. They can never seem to hit fast enough, but they always end up uncovering more and more horrific clones at each hideout and each base.

Slowly, the titan’s hold that held them all at the compound was loosened, and they were allowed to wonder place’s past the security. That’s how Steve and Sharon found themselves out riding their bikes like a couple of kids in an eighties nostalgia movie. Despite everything, they somehow remained friends.

They weren’t speeding, as they rode back from grabbing coffee and ice cream together, they were just cruising at a speed slightly higher than legal, but hey, who was gonna stop him? He was Captain America. A large, beatific smile filled his face that hadn’t in quite a while. Bucky and he were on a “break” he supposed, whatever the hell that meant. He wished he would just let him help, but he understood his need for distance. That doesn’t mean he wasn't watching though. He was happy Bucky and Clint were getting along, and Natasha filled him in how Bucky was doing. He wasn’t great but he was better. Still refusing to see a shrink, but he was doing that before this whole year happened. It was hard to believe that it’s almost been a year since Peter shot him in the side, but time does fly when you’re worried out of your mind.

Steve pushed all that aside though, pulling up to a red light beside Sharon. She looked over at him, revving her motor teasingly and he did the same right back. If a race is what she wants, a race is what she’ll get, Steve thinks to himself as he turned his head back forward watching for the light to turn green once again. As it flickered the shamrock shade, Sharon took off ahead of him, and he laughed to himself, realizing they were breaking another law. They’d also forgotten the helmets today.

They raced for a while, but Sharon’s bike was faster, so after a few minutes Steve pulled back, watching Sharon pull up on his left and fly past him. He shook his head while he laughed for a moment, until when he looked back up for her and saw her nowhere. She couldn’t have weaved through traffic that fast.

Up ahead he heard a cascade of screams and two shots. Steve unmounted his bike, parking it in the middle of the road while civilians ran past him. It wasn’t long until he found Sharon’s body, with a bullet between her eyes and another straight through her heart. Her bikes wheels were still turning a few feet away. A few tears pricked at his eyes as he wiped her blood off of his hands, onto his jeans and scrambled for his phone so he could call anyone really.

As he hit the call button, putting the phone up to his ear, it was snatched out of his hands. It flew straight into the hands of a boy, a little shorter than he was with a slimmer frame. He crushed it in his hands without hesitation. He had a mask covering his mouth, like Bucky.

“Peter.” He breathed out, it had to be him, but there was something wrong with his eyes. Peter may have been part spider from whatever HYDRA did to him, but he didn’t have eight, glowing red eyes, and he had three missing limbs. This one was perfect condition, excusing the additions. Pete charged toward him, and Steve was forced to double back. He couldn’t take him on his own, especially without any of his shields. Steve abandoned Sharon’s cooling body in the street, flicking on the com in the wristwatch he wore.

“Agent thirteen is down! I repeat, Agent thirteen is down. I have my sights on Peter, I need back up!” Steve yelped into the wristwatch while taking off. Peter hot on his trail and shooting at his feet.

“Backup is on its way Cap, we just need you to keep him focused on you,” Sam answered immediately. 

“Not a problem!” Steve huffed through gritted teeth. This kid was certainly giving him a run for his money. “Be careful, I think this is a clone, we might have the option to save this one!”

“Copy that Cap. We’re sending as many bodies as we can to your location but you’ve got to keep him still.”

“How still is still?”

“Keep him to one block for the next couple of minutes. Stark just sent out a fleet from the Iron Legion and Bucky and Clint are catching a ride.”

“That’s gonna be a tight squeeze.”

“We only need two minutes. Can you do this?”

“Well, I’ll certainly give him hell,” Steve said while he took cover behind a taxi. Most likely, every civilian had evacuated the area if they could. That certainly would be the best case scenario, and the only casualty of the day would be his friend. Though that was unlikely, and Steve can’t imagine to what lengths a tool of HYDRA would do to get the job done at the end of the day. He just hoped his boyfriend’s kid wasn’t in too much pain right about now, and that he wasn’t the one trying to kill him right now.

Steve whistled a low, and timid tune, as he snuck from car to car. His heart pounded against his chest at a fierce velocity, hearing just the faint patter of footsteps, coming for him but not quite there. There had never been an attack like this, which could only really mean one thing; they were ready for the next phase, whatever that was.

“Peter, come out buddy. I just want to get you help.” Steve said, and there Peter was, in his face, lacking his gun, but Steve knew full well what he was capable without one.

Peter wasted no time jumping into combat, jiving his knife toward Steve’s throat. Steve ducked out of the way just in time, causing the boy to just narrowly miss his target and stab into the car door. He soon abandoned it and took to hand to hand.

Peter moved swiftly through Steve’s punches, weaving through his openings like webbing and using his momentum against him. Steve had to keep reminding himself if this was Peter, Bucky would be here soon and get him calm, and if it wasn’t they’d handle him. As he chanted to himself silently, he stared down Peter, who he’d managed to get one hit in on. Square in the jaw, which knocked the mask off and broke his nose. Steve kept his hands up, but Peter just shook the hit off and charged at him, head first.

Peter slammed his head against his stomach like a battering ram, which sent him flying into a building easily, leaving him gasping for air. This was ridiculous. He was getting his ass handed to him by a kid he couldn’t actually fight because if this really was Bucky’s kid and he killed him he’d never forgive himself.

While Steve was peeling himself off the building’s side, he felt a bright, sharp pain in either shoulder. He cried out, seeing Peter already on top of him, and two metal legs impaling him. Behind the kid’s eyes was nothing, not remorse, not mercy, and certainly not guilt. With a straight face, the boy pressed the legs in deeper though him, pressing straight through and into the brick building. He could feel the other set of metal legs ghosting over his stomach. Through the searing pain, Steve grabbed the leg in his right shoulder and snapped it off. At the moment the boy took for shock, or rather deliberation, Steve sent the leg through Peter’s stomach.

The second leg slipped out of his other shoulder, and they both fell onto the concrete, groaning in pain. For a few moments, Steve hadn’t realized what he’d done, but a small, bloody hand reached out for him. For anyone. The chest attached, hiccuping while tears rolled down his dirtied face. Steve ripped off his flannel as the Iron Legion landed on the ground, pressing it into the gaping hole in the far younger boy stomach, despite the hurt that rang like bells down his spine.

Everything was moving too fast. How could he have done this? He was trying to survive, but he killed this kid. Bucky ran up to them, his fingers, interlocking with his son’s even though his blood was pouring out on them both.

“Da-dad?” Peter mumbled out, the red in his eyes never leaving.

“It’s me- It’s me, kiddo. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? You’re gonna- you’re gonna be okay.” Bucky said weakly, he didn’t believe it but he had to.

Peter’s face cracked into a soft smile, but it grew and grew as he laughed and laughed. They both watched in horror, as he giggled despite the fact he should be well past dead with as much blood as there was on the ground. “You’re gonna die alone when we come for you.” Was the only thing he said before the neon eyes cut to solid black.

When they got back to the tower, and Steve was shoved into the Medbay, they were informed there was an attempted attack on Wakanda. A New HYDRA squad with nano mask technology and voice modulators almost made off with a load of vibranium undetected, and almost successful assassination on their king T’Challa. There were multiple casualties, a bloodbath, but one of the thieves got away with vibranium. So it was the least to say that they were pissed and if they weren’t ready for a fight before they certainly were now.

Off in an undisclosed location, far from human life, or at least human life that had any morals left, Machine was put under spectacle, for anyone with a badge and the clearance to see. He was mostly kept to the lab, or the gym, being pushed and tested on far past any of his physical limits. He hated it, and every time he hesitated on an order, or dare to question something, he was sent back to The Chair. Erasing something new each time. Taking away all inhibitions. But, they couldn’t make him forget, and how could he? He struggled to remember everything, he couldn’t keep it all together and with the shocks coming so often he could only feel it go like water dripping through his hands, but he managed to hold onto a few things. Some distant, fuzzy things. His memories that he kept onto with a death grip soon shed all color except for a glowing red, and everything he had heard sounded as though it was engulfed with a cotton stuffing and proofed with an extra set of earplugs, for good measure. He could remember a log cabin, The Asset, warm arms wrapped around him with a great sense of urgency while a metal badge with a bird on it pressed against his cheek and left an imprint, a chubby boy who made his heart do funny things and taking a life. But, even with all those crimson images that he kept, he had no clue what they said about the life he’d lived.

So, he feigned his complete forgetfulness. Machine #4 Alpha had taken a liking to him. He didn’t understand it at all, but he saw the glances she snuck between all the training and all the testing. She gave him some of her food after Doctor Wescott drew three pints of blood from him one day. Or night. He couldn’t tell, but he knew there was a distinction between the two, which he couldn’t put his finger on right now. She was nice. He would like her too, but he couldn’t feel anything, not except for the pain, and the warmth of the living dead bodies that walked about the facility. 

The living dead wore Machine #4 Alpha’s face. They also wore his, but never correctly. There was always something wrong with them. Extra eyes, extra limbs, no limbs, no eyes. One had come out as this eight-limbed, eight-eyed, monster with thick brown hair covering the entirety of its body. It frustrated Doctor Wescott to no end, the amount of failure his work currently omitted, and when he was frustrated… Machine usually ended up getting sent straight back into The Chair for disobeying direct orders. Though, Machine noticed they went through these fakes, these living dead people like they were printer ink. He wondered what happened to them for them to always be disappearing, and for them to always be needing to make more. He could only assume what was happening, but no one would ever tell him. He’s not important enough to know.

Today, the Head of New HYDRA visited him. He watched him train in the gym by himself and with Machine #4 Alpha, watched Doctor Wescott’s every move when he went to take blood and do his exam like he did every day. Apparently, The New Head took quite the interest in him, and the designs he had made years ago when he had lab privileges. He didn’t ever remember making them, but apparently, they were used in some kind of battle. A fight that they won, in a way.

“Pete is what you like to be called, yeah?” The New Head said, pouring out a drink for himself in a lab he had emptied of everyone else. Everyone except them.

“I am Machine #7, sir.” He responded coldly. Was that something Asset had called him once? Was The Head just lying to him, to get into his head?

The New Head laughed, picking up his glass, which was now full of putrid smelling alcohol. “I like you,” He spoke while sipping. The ice clinked against the think glass loudly while it moved in his sturdy hands. “You’re so in character, you barely even know who you are, even when you’ve been made.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

“Stand up.” The New Head order. Machine complied. The New Head made his way to him, taking his face by the chin. “You see, you’re always so obedient. So ready to comply and so swift when taking action, but, not when Doctor Wescott asks you to do dirty things for him, things that you don’t want to do, I hear.”

“I know, sir. They’re working on reprogramming me at the moment, so I’m a bit off. I should be back at my normal function soon, sir.”

“No. You were right to react the way you did. I’m having Doctor Westcott assassinated later this week because of it. I don’t like having pedophiles under my roof, Pete. Don’t let anyone touch you like that again you hear me? If anyone tries to do that again you kill them, or come to me.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy.” He smiled, patting Machine’s cheek before taking a seat in front of him. “Sit.” Machine obeyed quietly, his body almost completely still except for his breathing. “Pete, you’re incredibly smart, skilled in combat, and gifted in almost every subject. That type of talent attracts a lot of people. Bad people. People that want to hurt you, and crush you and your gift. Like a bug.”

Machine could hear The New Head’s heartbeat. It was calm, a reassuring pump that ticked time away. His, on the other hand, drummed away like Michelle’s rock music in his ears. Though, that pounding in his head was one he enjoyed a lot more than the current one. He didn’t know what to think of the man that sat in front of him. He was suave, charming in an unexpectedly subtle way, he wanted something from him, or he wanted him to make him something. Do bad things, maybe? Despite the less and less, he knew each day he could assume he wasn’t in the best of company.

“I know you remember… things. Things that those people you were with, The Avengers, SHIELD, put in your head, but you have to know, that those things? They were lies. They lied when they said they loved you, and cared about you while they beat you, and kept you in a tiny cell, smothering your worth for the world, and its greater good.”

“Sir, I don’t mean to interrupt, or to come off in a way I shouldn't, but, I don’t remember much of anything, and what I do, people were nice to me for the most part.”

“But the rest you can't remember, right? They got ahold of you in Texas and wiped all your bad memories to make it seem like we were the bad guys before we came to save you because we just want to set you free. Doctor Wescott seemingly did more harm than good when he decided to send you in for reprogramming three times a day. Pete, why do you think you ran away from where they held you captivity in the first place?”

“I- don’t know sir.”

“Because you knew what they were doing to you was wrong, just like how you knew what Doctor Westcott was doing was wrong, and what old HYDRA was doing was wrong. We can make it right though, Pete.”

Machine hesitated, his bottom lip quivered in his deeply run confusion. “H-how, sir?” He asked.

“You can work for us. This New HYDRA. What we want is what you want, Pete. I know you desperately want to know what happened to you, and I know you excel at what you do. If you work for me, I can help you remember everything, slowly. If you want, you could leave right now though, but, if you walk, so does the chance of you ever being able to what happened to you.” The New Head smiled, drinking down all of his alcohol. “With us, with me, you can finally find closure. Find the answers you want and the purpose that can change this world for years to come.”

Machine weighed his options. Weighed for what he could possibly have to lose from this, and found he had no recollection of anything. He watched The New Head carefully, listening to his steady heartbeat and his unwavering smirk. 

“I accept, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so Steve and Sharon go speed racing but peter shows up and kills off sharon. steve calls sam who sends out bucky and the iron legion to go get him since they're the closest but they're not fast enough to stop steve from having to fatally defend himself against peter who is actually a clone and bucky arrives just in time to watch him die as he laughs hysterically. back at hydra the new head comes to visit him and pokes around to see how far Dr. Wescott was able to get him in reprogramming. The head offers pete a way out via helping him get his memories back if he helps recreate experiments he had himself done as a child and also tells him that he's gonna kill Dr. Wescott. pete accepts even though he has doubts.


	24. The Findings

Pete has been working steadfastly on his projects ever since he sent Doctor Wescott to Hel, where he most definitely belonged. Pete focused most of his efforts on making an easier way to create the clones with very little genetic hiccups like mutation or variation in body mass. It was still weird to see his face everywhere he went while he worked, but he knew that they weren’t him. Pete knew that the clones were just experiments, proof of his success. They weren’t people, not like him. 

Pete saw the proud look on Grant’s face while the other scientists reviewed his work, which made his chest fill up with a warm, buzzing feeling. Their faces were all some mixture of astonishment or confusion. He’d gotten farther on his work in the short time he was even allowed to then they had in their entire lives. Pete had figured out how to easily recreate clones that had had no mutation or variation unless he'd actively sought out to make them as such. With his method, he was even able to bring back Grant’s old “friend,” Kara Palamas. “Friend” in quotation because he is very much so not an idiot.

When the other scientists thought he couldn’t hear him, they whispered to Grant. They discussed in hushed tones how they had never thought “it” would work. They complimented Ward’s genius, and to say the least Pete was confused. He would just assume that the “it” in question was his, Pete’s continuation of the cloning experiments, but Grant hadn’t done anything but ask him if that was something he’d look into researching. He ignored it as much as he could, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread that collected in the pit of his stomach, telling him Grant wasn’t telling him something, but his better judgment knew Grant wouldn’t keep anything from him without a good reason. Nevertheless, the gnawing in the pit of his stomach made him sick from the need to know what Grant had done to deserve such quiet praise. 

Pete knew Grant would do anything for him. Grant had even gotten him vibranium to experiment with and incorporate into his designs, and that is the rarest known metal on earth from one of the most secretive nations in the world. So this doubt, he knew for certain was misplaced. He was The Head of HYDRA, to think that he wouldn’t keep things from him was ridiculous. It was probably nothing, after all, Grant trusted him with everything, but why does the nape of his neck bite so badly whenever he thinks about it? He threw himself even more so into his work to forget his uncertainty. 

Since he brought Kara to life, and she started going through the memory treatments like him, life seemed wonderful. It’s kinda like he created his own mom, who cared about him deeply. He’d never gotten that before. Well, he assumed his birth mother might’ve, at one point, loved him in some sick, twisted way by abandoning him, (as he had learned, thanks to the memory treatment Grant set up for him once every week.) Grant, Kara, and he all had dinner together on Ward’s level. They had movie nights together, they would watch over his shoulder while he worked, and they’d put bandaids on the cuts he got from training. They were the family he never had before. He’d never felt so loved, honestly.

Despite this, dreams still plagued him. Dreams where no one hit him and no one made him do anything he didn’t want to. Dreams where he was just as loved. He hated them. He always woke up in a dazed sweat. He wished he had answered. Pete wished his brain would stop lying to him, because Grant isn’t keeping anything from him, and The Avengers never cared about him. Especially not The Asset.

Grant hovered about Pete almost always, of course, unless he had more important work to do, which was, unfortunately, more often than not. Due to this, Pete liked to think that he could read him pretty well, especially after all the time Grant had spent pseudo fathering him. So, he knows when Grant wants something from him, or more so, wants to talk to him about something that was important. He didn’t even need to set down his tools to know that he was sulking near the back with a short glass, filled with mostly ice in his hands.

“Grant, you know the lab safety rules. You can’t have open drinks, let alone open, alcoholic drinks.” Pete chastised the man who was really only a year older than him.

“You’re right.” Grant sighed competitively as he tipped the glass over and emptied its acidic contents into the sink.

“I don’t know how you or Kara drink that stuff. It stinks from all the way over here.” Pete mused quietly.

“It’s an acquired taste, I suppose.”

Pete sucked in a breath, setting down his tools to turn toward Grant in his swivel chair. “Is there, something you… wanted to talk about… or did you just want to sulk in the back of my lab?” 

“There’s a lot of things I need to talk about, none of them with you.” Grant huffed in frustration. 

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t help me, Pete.”

“I could try.” Pete smiled sympathetically. Grant threw down his glass onto a table, still full of melting ice. Grant looked back up to him, his face flooded with a charismatic worry. Pete would do anything for Grant because Grant had done so much for him that he could never repay him for.

The Avengers had been tearing through HYDRA bases all around the globe with a newfound vengeance. Princess Shuri helped Bruce and Tony pinpoint them based off of energy signatures and local activity. Pepper, the absolute the angel she is kept the public calm for the most part while they were constantly going out to, and coming in from Accords sanctioned missions.

“We’re getting close, I can feel it,” Tony said, mostly speaking to himself.

“Of course we are close, I’m here.” Shuri, the future, and actual during the years after the snap, Queen of Wakanda, snarked.

“Hey, not all of us can be Head of Wakanda’s Science and Research division.” Bruce shrugged.

“Do not worry Doctor Banner, you’re still incredibly smart, even in my nonvirtual company.”

“Aw, gee, thanks.” He smiled, receiving a pat from her on the shoulder.

“After this is all over, what are we ordering? I’m feeling shawarma.”

“We’ve already had shawarma, try a little originality sometimes,” Bruce complained.

“I have not tried shawarma.”

“You don’t want to.”

“Alright then, jolly green giant, what do you want?” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Can we get pizza this time?”

“That’s fine with me, even though that’s the exact opposite of an original idea, as long as we get it from this one really good joint in Queens.”

“Yeah, and by the time it gets here, it’ll be cold and sad. No. What if we just ordered it from the closest place by like normal people?”

“And eat Pizza Hut? You’ve got to be playing with me Brucie Bear!”

“Colonizers,” Shuri interrupts their bickering. “There appears to be a rather large surge of energy at the suspected HYDRA facility in Svalbard.”

“What? Pull it up? Do we have eyes on the facility on the ground?”

“Not at all, Mr. Stark.” Shuri zoomed in on the small archipelago in the arctic ocean. “The surge seems to be growing, and at a steady rate for it to be a few tanks of #4’s and #7’s.”

“What does that mean?” Bruce asked softly.

“They’re ready for a fight, and they just turned on their location,” Tony answered him. “And we’re gonna meet them there.”

“Pete you don’t understand.” Grant sighed.

“Don’t tell me that, I have a higher IQ than you.” 

“I know that. Obviously, I know that, because if I didn’t you wouldn’t be alive right now, you’d be in a garbage can, rotting.”

“And I thank you every day for that, Grant,” Pete said softly, shocked at his father figure’s bluntness, as he was often more close off, and less angry. “There’s nothing I can do to repay you for that. I wanted to die, and you saved me. When you have a problem I wanna be there to solve it, or at least be a piece to help solve it.”

“Pete, you shouldn’t want to dedicate yourself to someone like that. Not for me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you’ll only be disappointed.” Grant sighed.

“It’s bold of you to assume you could ever disappoint me.” Pete crossed his arms over his chest.“

“Oh, I could. In a million different ways.”

“Just tell me!”

“The Avengers, SHIELD, they’re onto us, Pete.” Grant sighed.

“So? We can just deploy the decoys or send out one of the #7 troops.”

“There are no more decoys, there are no more troops, Pete. I think they’re about to win, and I can’t let that happen.”

“I can make more.” Pete shrugged.

“The more #7’s and #4’s we make the closer they get to narrowing down the active facilities and finding us.”

“Well… what if we let them find us?”

“That’s your big idea Pete? If they get you they’ll torture you, they’ll beat you and hurt you in ways you forgot you could hurt.”

“I perfected the acceleration process in the soldiers earlier this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

“In theory, it could only take two hours to incubate a soldier in one chamber, and we have dozens of chambers, so we could easily cultivate an army that could defeat The Avengers.”

“You are a genius, Pete.” Grant huffed dejectedly. “But will that be enough?”

“Of course.”

“But they don’t think for themselves. About a million hive minds have tried to kill The Avengers before, and obviously, none have succeeded. I need a proper soldier, one who can make the calls himself.” Grant said suggestively, feigning deep thought.

“I could fight.”

“I don’t want you to, Pete. I know you try to stay away from violence, and you out of anyone should have the right to a violence-free life.” Grant attempted to reason with the boy.

“But I want to, and I thought the memory machine and all of this was so I could have the freedom to choose, so I choose you!”

Grant smiled an enamored, unsavory smile at the younger man. “Thank you, I owe you one.”

“No, I still owe you several ones. Besides, I can still go ahead and email my research on the clones to the scientists downstairs so they could get started on that army.”

“You go ahead and do that,” Grant said, taking Pete by each shoulder in a proud show of fatherly affection. “I love you, son.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13th is my birthday


	25. Fire Fight

All The Avengers set out on the Quinjet as soon everyone was in reach. Once they arrived cruising altitude everyone prepped for debriefing in the boardroom. Phil’s team had tagged along, and so had the King and Princess of Wakanda. This was a fight they certainly could not loose, for fear of Peter being harmed, and an army of trained assassins being unleashed onto the world. They couldn’t confirm if Peter was there, or even alive, but both Shuri and Bruce agreed that it was likely, because they would need to get DNA from somewhere though. Although, they very well could’ve shaved his head, tore him open to take his organs and stuff them in jars and drain him of blood, it’s not like they haven’t done that one before. Daisy, Phil’s adopted daughter, and protege could attest to that one. Though, they were under new leadership, by a person with an unconfirmed identity. Maybe they weren’t there, or maybe this was a trap. Most people probably didn’t care though, because they needed a win, desperately. 

After debriefing with Director Coulson, Bucky and Clint sulked in the back, with Natasha and Scott as company. Steve stayed closer to the cockpit, where Maria and Melinda May were. If Natasha had to guess, there was still trouble in paradise, but that wasn’t that hard of a conclusion to come to. She knew things would work out with them, they always did, they just needed to have an actual conversation that wasn’t about trying to find the older fossil’s child. Though, it was really none of her business. Her business was more so how gorgeous her girlfriend looked in her new suit.

While they waited for the drop, Bucky slipped into the bathroom. He locked himself inside and simply just stared. Taking in his seemingly permanently disheveled look. His hair reached just a tad past his shoulders. Without thinking about it, he was reaching inside the medicine cabinet, taking hold of a thin, monochromatic pair of scissors and hacking away at the ridiculously long locks of hair. Watching them all catch onto the edge of the sink, or tumble silently inside. Ridding it of its pure titanium white color and replacing it with a thick sheet of chestnut brown. Natasha would be disappointed, what, with all her hours of slaving over giving him highlights gone and into the drain, literally.

Without the hair, he looked normal. Without the hair, he looked like himself again, or the old self he had had before everything happened and he had been turned into someone else. He looked as though he’d never fallen like he saw the war through and won, and he’d grown up with his best pal who was dumb enough to let a German scientist experiment on him for fun. But he did fall, he had a Wakandan arm to prove it, his buddy wasn’t his buddy, more a boyfriend he wasn’t talking to right now. He sulked back out after he’d cleaned his mess, his head feeling at least two pounds lighter.

“Nice cut,” Nat said, a slight smirk on her lips.

“Thanks.”

They dropped on the edge of the tiny island. The cool air filled with the scent of salt. On either side, more land filled their view. The had to drop where the suspected HYDRA facility couldn’t shoot them out of the sky, which left them with several miles to trek. She smiled as Maria kissed her cheek for good luck as they all split up into groups, preparing to ambush as she saw the top of the facility peak out from behind the icy tundra.

“Looks like you were right.” Grant smiled at Pete as he watched surveillance video of the quintet landing, and armed Avengers and SHIELD agents stepped into the freezing early spring sands of Grumant, Svalbard. “Heh, even Coulson came to see your big debut.”

“Who’s that?”

“He was… the closest thing I got to a real father before things happened. I made some big mistakes, mistakes I regret, but ones that led me here, and he traded me off to my brother.” Grant spoke with a certain level of stilled venom in this tone. Pete knew about Grant’s older brother, and how much of an abuser he’d been to his father figure. Pete didn’t let it show but his blood boiled in anger, how could anyone to that to someone who cared so much about them? 

“Will you be okay, Grant?” Pete asked quietly, his eyes wide.

“Why wouldn’t I be, Pete? Are you having second thoughts?”

“No, of course not, sir.” Pete shook his head vigorously.

“You don’t have to be brave around me, these people will tear you apart without remorse, they’ll lie to your face and stab you in the back, are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Besides, they’re here now, aren’t they?”

“That they are.”

“What will you do?” Pete asked, wringing his gloved fingers. He was mostly prepared for battle, his vest was still unstrapped, which left him half dressed.

“I’ll be making sure everyone is out and all the physical copies are burned so we don’t lose more than we already have. Afterward, we’ll see, but you know where to meet me, right?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good boy, now let’s get you ready.” Grant smiled and pressed a kiss on Pete’s forehead. His breath always had the stench of alcohol on them, which he hated so much. He wished he could pour out all of Grant’s alcohol down his lab’s sink and just be happy with him and Kara alone. He knew Grant drank to cope with everything that had happened, all the abuse he’d gone through as a younger man, but it wasn’t healthy, and how were they supposed to be a family if his liver ended up failing him?

Grant pulled the straps of the leather vest tight around his chest, and it almost felt hard to breathe, but that wasn’t due to the restriction on his chest. He’d worn this same vest so many times before, on many different occasions. Thanks to the memory machine, he could now remember so many times over being strapped in, and sent off to whatever country to kill, and to massacre. To commit genocide, to leave not a single person alive. Something he never wanted to return to. He’d wish to avoid all combat for the rest of his life, but for Grant, he’d do it all over, because Grant showed him the alive. Grant is the reason he still has a soul, after all, he’d done.

Grant put a gun in his hand. Fully loaded, with the safety on. Grant trusted him even though he’d been a proven failure in the past. They split paths as Pete headed up to the surface, finding himself, lost in a crowd of young men that were exactly identical to him. He’d created them to be cannon fodder. A rush of guilt got the best of him but the better half of himself knew he did it for Grant, so it would be okay. Into his side, knocked the only remaining #4, the original clone. Her Farrah Fawcett hair stuck out in the sea of dark brunette, and silver.

“Peter.”

“It’s Pete now, #4,” Pete said coldly. He didn’t know her, well he used too, they used to be close, as the top two performers in Program it was obvious. They were competition, but, he’d found her to be pretty, and smart, and kind. And that clone wasn’t her.

“Felicia.” She responded simply, Pete nodded slightly, turning away as he followed the waves of the crowd. Not bothering to look at her.

“Why are you here?”

“The same reason I imagine you’re here.”

“Because of Grant?”

“No.” She said with some amount of disgust, eyeing him up and down like he’d spoken blasphemy in God’s house. “Because HYDRA is home.” Was what she huffed out immediately. “You must be in need of another system restart. Don’t forget your place, soldat.”

It was hard to believe he’d love another version of this woman. Though this clone was a poor imitation, and he was a different boy. He can’t remember why he liked her in the first place though. Maybe he just liked her because he thought he was supposed to.

“I’m not the one who is out of place Machine #4, speaking to superiors with such arrogance and self-importance. You’re replaceable, act like it.” He growled wantonly in her face and moving forward. That felt wrong. He wanted to apologize, but Grant would be upset at him for doing so, so he didn’t look in his peripheral as Felicia, once dubbed Black Cat and the second in Program, now an idiotic clone who stubbled to find her footing as she was corrected. But, he talked like guards who’d snatched his crutches and shoved his brain in a deep fryer. 

As the veiled sunlight hit his eyes, he winced just the slightest, staring up at a sun that was still newly born into the pale sky. It was different from the fluorescent lights in his lab. Lighter, as opposed to the constant, and unrelenting glow from the base lights. The air’s chill nipped at his bare skin, the sea salt and scent of gunmetal filling his world. If he had to guess, most of the clones at the end of the day wouldn’t perish due to their wounds, rather the icy air. As he exhaled, smoke billowed from his mouth, swirling and turning through the air like an infinitely expanding dancer. He climbed to the rooftop.

They soon figured out they should not have split up. Crawling all through the building was cannon fodder wearing a little boy’s face. Despite them being spread out, they surprisingly easily managed to cut through the crowd. Feeling no less guilty as they did so, whisking through crowds. Melinda May and Natasha paired up to try and get data off the computers, hoping to garner a lead or a blueprint or two of them.

“It’s nice to finally have someone who can watch my back.” Melinda said offhandedly as she used her “Icer” on another clone.

“I can feel that one.” Natasha smiled slightly as she slipped a flash drive into a random computer on the main lab floor, uploading as much as she could before they could get trapped by the unending waves of boys. They got in, and they got out with as much as they could, which was a few files and the flash drive. The hall was clear, so they ran, trying to duck out the way they came, the bodies of the clones cluttering the floor. 

Turning the corner, a man stepped into their way.

“Grant.” May hissed, hatred filled her eyes.

“Miss me?” Grant asked, a smile on his face.

“Not at all.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, but it’s not like that’s important.”

“Well, why don’t you come over and we can talk about what’s important,” May said with a threatening edge to her tone.

“I’m good, thanks for the offer though. How about you mull it over with a couple of my kids though?” Grant smirked as a few clones dropped down onto Natasha and Melinda, getting the jump on them. Shockingly, the clones managed to overwhelm the two of them, getting them into cuffs. Or maybe they let the boys get their way, a small smile flooded the boy’s faces as they collected the stolen files and gave them to Grant. They didn’t find the flash drive.

Outside on the roof, Pete watched as the Iron Man shot down clones, which was just a tad disturbing to watch, but he noticed the man pulled his punches. He used his stun setting instead of his normal blasters, and his hits only barely connected, really. He certainly wasn’t heading into battle at full force. None of them were. He’d studied their fighting patterns while training for today, so he was surprised. Why weren’t they brutalizing the many versions of himself? Beating them into a pulp. None of them had his experience, or most of his memories so they would be easy to take out, especially for the entirety of The Avengers, but they were able to get in hits they shouldn’t have been, and dance circles around them. 

He was confused, but he didn’t want to think about it too much because he had a job to do, an important one to do at that. He updated the movements of the enemy over the coms, he saw The Black Widow and The Calvary make their way inside. Grant caught them, he even thanked him for telling him where they were and Pete felt an involuntary smile fall onto his face. Grant was good, he was good, HYDRA was good. These people were the bag guys, who tried to kill him, and they couldn’t just get away with that. But, why every time he tries to reason with himself, say something he knows is fact, like The Avengers are bad people, he just wants to scream, because he dreams every night of Tony Stark calling him “kid” and praising his work, Clint making pancakes for him, Bucky hanging up all the horrible sketches he made on the walls of a cabin the the woods they shared together, but that was fake, it wasn't real because none of them are good people, and bad people don’t do good things. 

“Pete,” Grant called over the radio. “Where you at?”

“The rooftop, overseeing the battle, should I head out there?”

“No. Don’t head out. Come back into the base, meet me in the main lab. I got another present for you.”

“Gotcha, I’ll be down in a few.” Pete turned his walkie off and crawled down the building and back inside. He was careful to step over the dead boys, he wouldn’t want to disrespect the dead and further taint any remaining soul he had. Would it be disrespectful if you stepped on your own dead body?

No one ever wants to lose, not when they have nothing else, and so desperate to not lose anymore. So when you fail, and you lose everything, when you have someone scoop you up from your lowest low, your deepest depression, and sow you back together, that person becomes your god. Your everything. Someone you’d lose it all over again for, over and over, forever. But that’s not healthy, to need someone so much, to be without them is to feel as though you’re dying. When the person you’d give your life for, the person who stitched you back together again, warps from the friendly endearing face you’d known for so long, into some monster, Some monster, that maybe you knew they were all along, deep inside of your heart’s heart; or maybe you had no clue, fooled by your need to cling onto something real, but all the same you slid, what do you do? How do you get back up from that one?

Pete pushes the main lab doors open. He was never down here often, considering he had his own private lab on Ward’s floor. Of which he also had his own bedroom. Kara and Ward shared a bedroom. Two women were up against the wall, the ones he’d warned Ward about, and one man. He had two quivers still in his back, but his bow had been mounted on the wall, by the lab coats. He knew who this was. A clone must have dragged him in, but just seeing him there regardless of him only being semi-conscious made his whole body quake in fear. He knew what Hawkeye had done to him while he was in The Avengers custody. He was by far, the worst to him. Beating him until he couldn’t see out of his swollen eyes, but in his dreams, Clint Barton always made him food, tried to talk to him, introduced him to new things, and fought for him, even when it cost him his marriage.

“Do you like your present, Pete?” Ward asked him, a crooked smile on his face, his breath reeked like a rotting carcass on a hot day, just like it always had when he’d been drinking. He was always drinking though, he should be used to it. But he kept drinking more and more and it was getting harder to ignore it, especially when it made him start to act funny.

“Uh- yes, sir.” Pete stuttered, he clenched his fists at his side so he didn’t look like he was as afraid as he really was, Ward always watched him like a hawk though. Always saw straight through him like he was some sort of superhero. Ward was his superhero.

“One of the new clones brought him in for you. I must say, I am impressed with them, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.” Ward complimented him.

“Thank you, sir.” He attempted at a genuine smile, but he couldn’t do it, not if they were here. The Black Widow gave him a funny look like she could see through him too, but she just needed a second more to figure him out. H didn’t want to be found out like a rabbit hunted by a dog. He just wanted to be free from them.

“Don’t, I’m just telling the truth.” Ward slapped an open palm over his shoulder. “Go ahead, have fun with them.” Pete nodded nervously, his eyes fluttering back and forth between the two men. He couldn’t move. “What, did you lose your gun, Pete?” Ward asked, brow raised as he leaned against a lab table, a drink in his hands. Pete could still hear the sound the Iron Man's blasters made from outside.

“No, I-uh- I have it right here,” Pete announced, laughing nervously as he pulled the gun Ward had given him earlier from his holster.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Ward asked incredulously, his voice raising just ever so slightly, but Pete noticed it. He winched. “Wake him up.”

Pete nodded a bit, setting his gun on the table carefully. Melinda’s eyes laid heavy on Ward with a pointed anger, she hates him, that much is clear, but Pete could never know how anyone could hate Ward. Natasha’s eyes only screamed empathy, but he was not some dull, whimpering boy who needed saving. Pete whipped a metal hand across Clint’s face, causing the man’s face to scrunch up in pain, letting out a soft groan. His eye was swollen already, and the rest of his face was covered in small cuts. Pete felt wrong, his hands dirty with Hawkeye’s blood.

“Ah, fuck.” Hawkeye moaned, his eyes openings slowly as he tried to adjust to the sudden bright light. “Buddy.”

“Don’t call me that, only address me as Pete.”

“Okay. Okay, Pete.” Clint nodded, his brain struggling to catch up to his surroundings.

“Ward, stop this,” Melinda ordered. “This is sick and you know it.”

“Stop? We haven’t even started.” Ward smirked.

“Stop? Stop what-” Clint started to question, being interrupted as Pete dislocated his knee. “Oh, that.” He groaned, Nat gave him a sympathetic look.

“Go ahead, Pete, tell him how you feel.” Ward encouraged the suddenly timid boy. He almost jumped at the sound of Ward’s voice. He wanted to bite his tongue off. He wanted to run, cry and scream. Pete wanted to jump into Ward’s arms and lay there forever. Why was he so afraid when Hawkeye couldn’t hurt him anymore.

“Peter, you don’t have to do anything he asks you too,” Natasha spoke cooley, looking up at the young boy who stood over the cuffed trio.

“Don’t call me that!” Pete ordered a metal leg diving into Clint’s chest, sending him against the wall. Pete huffed, the tears threatening to fall made him feel so intrinsically weak because he shouldn’t feel bad about hurting bad people, but the red dreams that kept playing in his head kept him from having no remorse.

“Buddy, C'mon,” Clint pleaded with the boy. His eyes were different. They must've been fixed since he’d been taken, but metal plating extended out of his eyes into a diamond shape onto his brow bone and onto his cheek. “You remember me, yeah?”

“Oh, I remember you,” Pete growled. “You ruined my life, infested my dreams, and now you want to break me all over again, don’t you?!” He asked as he pounded his metal fist against Hawkeye’s face. Blood rushed out of his newly broken nose.

“Peter, buddy, C'mon, you gotta-” Clint attempted to murmur to the younger, manipulated, man.

“No! Don’t call me buddy, don’t call me Peter! You may have broken me, but Ward fixed me, he made me remember what you put me through!” 

“Okay, okay… Pete.” He nodded. “What do you remember?”

“Like you don’t already know!” Pete scoffed, his abnormally long canines catching on his bottom lip. “You kept me against my will, in a tiny room, you beat me, and kept me from the only family I had left and then when I escaped with her you killed her!”

“That’s not what happened.” Clint shook his head, the blood from his broken nose tipping over his chin and dripping into his clothes. “Don’t you- don’t you remember when I made you pancakes when you woke up for real? We sat at the table together.”

Pete looked down at him, eyes wide. How did he know about his red dreams? “Be quiet!” He shouted tearily, backing up. He could remember his skepticisms before going into the memory machine, he could remember the certainty he’d felt after coming out of the machine for the first time. What if Grant had taken that time to mess with his memories, scramble his brain without the pain? But that couldn’t be, because he trusted, he was like a father to him, and Grant would never do that to him, would he? 

“Pete, I know you remember, I don’t know what he did to you but-”

Pete stomped down onto Clint’s already dislocated knee. “I said shut up!” Gentle fingers found his shoulder. His head snapped and Ward stood over him. Pete also remembered Grant telling that The Avengers had scrambled his brain too, poked about his memories, so maybe they implanted memories in his head to make it seem like HYDRA was the bad guys and that they were the good guys. That had to be it because Ward wouldn’t lie to him, he couldn’t.

“I don’t mean to rush this, but, we don’t have much time,” Grant said, handing the gun over to Pete.

“I understand, sir.” Pete smiled weakly. His confidence draining out of him like honey through a strainer.

The gun was cool on his human fingers. The leather glove clung to him, protecting his palm from its rimy chill, but not the weight the object held. He flicked off the safety and aimed between The Hawk’s eyes. He’d done this a plethora of times before. Aim, shoot and kill any number of targets. Grant had even asked him to kill quite a few times after Dr Wescott, but his finger pressed against the trigger, but couldn’t pull. His eyes blurred with a thick wetness, and he dropped the gun to his side, his shoulders falling forward, knees buckling, as a disgusting sob ripped through his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Grant demanded. He was failing him. Why couldn’t he just kill him as he’d asked? Why couldn’t he just be a machine? Why did he want to do what Grant wanted him to do so bad?

“I- I can’t do it, Grant.” He whimpered almost silently. He could no longer see the enemies judgemental stares, not past his guilt, not past the bubbling confusion in his chest.

“Why not?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Pete whimpered pathetically. Ward took the gun from his hands and wrapped his arms around the crying boy.

“It's okay, baby.” Grant cooed, his fingers rubbing comforting circles in the innocent boy’s back. Melinda couldn’t watch, disgust and iron flooding her senses as she bit on her tongue to prevent it from spilling curses at the repulsive scene.

“Pete- !” Natasha yelped, trying to let out a warning, but her voice hit the collective’s attention just a moment too late, a loud bang reverberating throughout the bleached room.

Grant stepped away from Pete, letting his arms fall from around the tall, barely human boy, allowing him to stumble just ever so slightly on his own. Pete’s eyes wide with panic, blood couldn’t bleed through leather, so it quickly coated his sides. He swayed for a moment, clutching his wound and painting his palms a sickening burgundy before falling backward onto the linoleum tile. 

“Maybe you should’ve trusted your gut the first time Pete. I mean, I did tell you straight up, several times that I’m not a good person, and that you shouldn’t trust me.” Grant spoke apathetically, crouching down to his level. Pete shook his head, tears finally streaming over the side of his mechanical lids.

“Dad, no…” Pete whispered, his lips trembling pathetically.

“What? C’mon Pete, you didn’t actually convince yourself that I cared about you, did you? I never cared about you, I just wanted a family, and you were the closest thing nearby that wasn’t about to keel over from bowing to my glory, and now, thanks to you, I get to have my pick of the litter.” Grant stood up from where Peter was, kicking the gun away from him to prevent him from getting any crafty ideas.

“Why are you crying? You’ve had to have been shot hundreds of times by now, you shouldn’t be such a bitch about it honestly.”

“That’s not why I’m crying, Grant,” Pete said softly, gasping as he tried to pull himself off the tiles. Grant knocked him over once more by sending a kick into his shoulder.

“I’m gonna go ahead and jump before The Avengers come in here to finish you off. Thanks for everything, happy trails, kid.” Grant smirked, turning to leave.

As Grant turned the corner, exiting the lab, Clint was already at Peter’s side, trying to help his boy but struggling with his hands cuffed. Pete was pulling himself off the ground, a trail of blood glimmered as it dripped down his chapped lips, it shined on the polished floors beneath him.

“Pete, C'mon, you gotta help us find the keys to the cuffs so we can help you, okay? Pete?”

Peter stumbled to his feet, wiping the crimson onto his leather glove. “Check the lab station on your left.” 

Natasha quickly retrieved the keys to the synthesized Vibranium handcuffs, helping everyone get out. She threw a quick thanks to his way, which he ignored in favor of retrieving Grant’s gun, placing it in his holster and walking out the door.

The Avengers had to be in the building at this point, it was too quiet outside, and he could hear footsteps coming from every corner. So, maybe The Avengers weren’t the bad guys, and the red dreams weren’t implanted memories but a reality that no amount of new and improved wiping could erase, but he really didn’t want to see any of them right about now. They’d stop him, maybe tell him he couldn’t leave his room because he’d get hurt again. His footsteps sped up over time, getting gone rather fast for someone who’d been shot in the stomach. The aching told him he was real, he could already feel his cells desperately trying to seal the wound. Maybe he’d die, maybe he wouldn’t but who would care? He wasn’t a Machine, and he wasn’t Pete, Spider, or buddy, or anything. He was nothing. He would always be nothing without someone else to tell him who he was.

Rapid footsteps echoed him, and he turned on his heels to see Clint. Last person, he wanted to see. “Where are you going?” Clint practically screamed, his tone was pitchy from worry, he wondered why he was worried, Peter had done horrible things to him, and never done a damn thing to deserve his kindness.

“To go say my peace to Grant.” He said simply, walking on. He knew where Grant was.

“He just shot you, Pete! You need medical attention, just let me help you-”

“No.”

“I’m not asking you, Pete, you’ll bleed out.”

“Wow, I just remember you weren’t trying to murder me a few minutes ago and we’re already trying to control my every move.” Pete snarked, his pallor skin was drenched in sweat.

“You’ll die Pete, and I just got you back! I’m not putting Bucky through that. He’s been through enough.” Clint argued, grabbing

“Don’t call me that!” Pete yelped, ripping his arm from Clint’s hand. The fake memories felt just as real as the fakes. Why did he react like that? Why can’t he just calm down? Clint’s not gonna hurt him, he knows that now. Why can’t he be normal? Why can't leave him alone? Why can’t Clint see he doesn’t deserve his help?

“What? ‘Pete?’” 

“J-just… don’t call me anything, and Jesus Christ don’t touch me.” Pete shook his head and started running off in the other direction, leaving just a small trail of crimson to follow as he made his great chase down the halls and through the stairs.

The more he ran, the more he could hear extra pairs of combat boots screeching as they padded down the linoleum reaching out closer and closer toward him. They were fast but he could be faster. He reached a railed edge, his hands gripping the edge of the cool metal as he peeked over the edge. In the distance, he could see Ward, making his escape. He wouldn’t get away, he couldn’t let him, not after what he’d done, it wasn’t right. He made him a Machine, well oiled, complicit, made him do him the one thing he hadn’t wanted to do by manipulating him, lying through his teeth, with a smile. Peter must’ve been a horrible spy, that or he just couldn't ever see things he didn’t want to. He looked over his shoulder, seeing men rushing towards him. He dove over the edge.

Using his web shooters, he swung from rafter to rafter. Ward tried to get to the exit, the one in the plan. The one where he’d have a ride that’d take them far away so they could set up a new lab, keep living comfortably. Kara stood at his side. Peter fell in front of the exit door, planting his feet firmly.

“Mom, Ward- he shot me, go run to The Avengers, they’ll protect you from him.”

“You deserved it,” Kara said deadpan. He should’ve known better than to even ask her. He just did it for peace of mind he supposed as she came at him.

Peter didn’t really have time for this, or they want to deal with her because as they fought on the narrow metal walkway, Ward was running off again and The Avengers was way too close for comfort because he saw their faces and he knew they could see him. She came in too fast and too hard, and narrowly missed the side of Pete’s face. It sent her over the side and it sent him dropping a few stories down to Ward, hitting him in the back with a few tons of force. He heard a loud snap but it didn’t satisfy any of the boiling anger burning in his artificial, emerald eyes.

Pete jerked Ward to face him, his face contorted in extreme pain. He could see the scar on his forehead from where he’d ram his head into the wall to try and kill himself years ago easily in the lowlight. Pete wished he’d succeeded. Ward tried to say something but Pete slammed his fist over and over again into his face. He couldn’t stop himself. It was like he was a ghost, watching himself from outside of his body. He didn’t want to stop even as The Avengers started to reach him.

“Don’t you have something you wanna say to me?” Pete screamed into his face.

“I should’ve let Doctor Wescott live,” Ward mumbled out as best as he could through a broken jaw. He said it just to hurt him, he didn’t mean it-

“You are a fucking bastard! You could’ve been a good person, but you lied to me! You lie to everyone! No wonder no one has ever cared about you in your whole damn life! You had choices, Hive, I would kill to have one of those!” Pete snarked. “Oh wait, I have! Because you lied to me and told me to murder people to be able to be free! Look at where you are now though! Look!”

“What are you gonna do, turn me into The Avengers to earn your gold card? They don’t care about people like us, they’ll never are about trash like you. You’re a Machine, you’ll never be a person like you wanna be. You’re a waste of scrap parts.”

“I don’t disagree with you there,” Pete shrugged, slipping Ward’s gun from his holster. “But you’re mine.”

Pete put his gun between his brows and pulled the trigger without blinking.

Oh, Hive. What did he do? He killed him. He just killed Grant. Kara was probably dead too. He was horrible, disgusting. He killed another person. Two people. He said he didn’t want to kill anymore but he just couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

“Drop the gun, buddy.”

He did, it clattered and fell over the edge. Vertigo overtook him as he walked straight forward. Blackness overwhelming his vision swiftly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my birthday sucked but Friday's update will be the last unless you'd like the epilogue.


	26. The Medbay; The End

Bucky took a deep sigh. His forehead and hand pressed against the door. He hadn’t seen him since… it happened. He knew he wouldn’t be awake by now, but his heart thumped a steady beat in his chest that made his hands shake at a steadfast pace. He pushed it open. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Clint was already sitting there. Guilt spread across his features. He wordlessly sat next to the other blonde. He passed him a lollipop with a soft, tired smile. “Guess we gotta kick that nasty habit of ours now, huh?”

“Guess so.” Bucky shrugged, taking it, wadding the wrapper and stuffing it in his pocket. “Been a long day, huh?”

“Especially for you. You’re all bald now. D’ya miss the hair, locks?”

“Wasn’t too attached. Won’t have to waste so much money on shampoo now though.” Clint nodded in agreement, unwrapping his own lollipop, biting down on the flavored sugar. “That’s disgusting.”

“What?” Clint mumbled trying to speak through the mouth full of sticky candy.

“You seriously just chew your lollipops like that?”

“Yuh.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Is it cause you love me?” He asked hopefully.

“No.”

“That makes me sad.”

“Cool.” Bucky nodded.

“He’s gonna be out for a while.” Helen said, walking in unannounced.

“We know.”

“Maria asked me to tell you two that we’re landing in a few, and Tony wants to know what you want to eat when we get to the compound.” Helen talked while she quickly checked over Peter’s vitals. Everything had already scabbed over, so the bandage wrapping his abdomen was almost pointlessly

Bucky and Clint looked over at each other before turning back to Helen. “Cheese dogs.”

“Got it.” Helen nodded, giving them both a reassuring, sympathetic smile before leaving them to be. They swapped the good stories about their boy but never letting their weary eyes leave his rising chest.

They got to the Compound, and Peter got set up in the Medbay. Tony ended up just ordering food from wherever for everyone, so Shuri got to try shawarma. Unspokenly, Clint and Bucky took shifts ensuring their boy was okay, only really seeing each other as they passed in the white hall that smelled of faint bleach and intensely of lilac and vanilla because the smell of chemicals was often hard on a super nose and cause Tony was thoughtful. Clint practiced his guitar during his turn, sometimes humming a soft tune along to the instrumentals, or telling him how the kids were or how the Asian boy he really liked was doing. Bucky binge-watched Netflix because he doesn’t really know what a Stranger Thing is yet, or a DND. That looked fun though, Peter would probably like it, he liked board games still right? It looked like a geek thing though, so he’d have to ask Bruce about it, see what he could do to set up a game or something.

Mary and the Witch's Flower was up on the TV. Natasha said that the studio that produced it was Japanese Disney, called Studio Ghibli and that he should check it out. Steve would love it. He’d probably use some big fancy art words to describe the fluidity of the character’s, or something was equally indecipherable to the uncreative and unversed mind. He found himself looking over to Peter every few minutes, his fingers instinct running through his curled hair. It was chopped short close to the scalp. It had probably been shaved off at some point so they could do some gross unspeakable act, and had only just started to grow back.

In the door frame Steve stood, watching them.

“You gonna come in?” Bucky asked.

“Can I?” Steve asked, his arms wrapped around his chest, hunching forward making him look smaller than he was.

“Free country.” Bucky shrugged, eyes flickering quickly back over to his boy.

Steve stepped into the room. It was dark, but not so much that he couldn’t see where he was going, but so that Bucky’s face was gently caressed by the light, exaggerating his features and making him look soft to the touch. He sat next to his boyfriend.

“I just can’t believe he’s back.” Bucky whispered, his eyes threatening to flood. Steve nodded silently.

“I couldn’t imagine this is how everything tossed up.” Steve sighed, a sweet smile filling up his features as he took Bucky’s hand in his. “It’s been a year since this all started, y’know.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sniffled. “I got all my boys. This is a pretty good end, I think.”

“I’m sorry y’know… for what I said after. I just… I thought that this wouldn’t happen… and I really hate seeing you in pain.”

“I know, but it wasn’t me you should’ve been worrying about. You’re always worrying about me. You do know that I’m a year older than you right?”

“Yeah. I just can’t help myself.”

Bucky shifted in his chair so they were facing each other. Easily their lips met each other. Two pieces in a much grander picture that fit perfectly.

A small cough coming from Bucky’s side split them apart. The newly shaved man almost jumped out of his skin, but he definitely jumped out of his chair. The young boy’s chest heaved as he coughed for a few seconds, his eyes still struggling to pry open. It wouldn’t do much to open them, Helen removed all of the prosthetics, including the metal eye protectors, showing the forgotten skin underneath, which was red and scabbed. Though, she hadn’t removed the metal plate in his head that replaced a missing piece of his skull.

“Grant?” He whimpered out, his voice scratchy and low from lack of use.

“He’s not here, baby. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Bucky spoke softly, his hands easily finding a place in his hair.

“Bub?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded so fast Steve thought he’d get whiplash. “Yeah it’s me, baby, how do you feel?”

“Sick.”

“You need a trash can?” Bucky asked. Peter shook his head no. “Does it hurt?” No again. “Do you need me to get you anything?” No. 

Bucky sighed a little, turning his head to look over at Steve, who was already gone to get Clint. Peter kicked at the covers as best as he could, trying to turn onto his side. Bucky lifted the concerningly light boy and helped him onto his side. Peter’s hand swatted at him as he whined. He hadn’t thought… jesus. He knew Grant had altered his memories but he hadn’t considered how that included him.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you, are you okay?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Bucky asked wearily. Peter just used his hand to grab at him and pull him closer. Peter laid his head on his shoulder, slipping almost halfway off the bed. Bucky just laughed sadly. Of course, he just wanted to cuddle.

Clint raced into the room, panting. The other blond couldn’t look happier, despite running to the Medbay from Tony’s lab where he was doing a once over on his arrows. “You two look comfy, Y'all mind if I drop in on this love-in?”

“Of course we do. You’re blocked.”

“Aw, what did I do this time?”

“You’re blocked for lollipop crunching on main.”

“Aw, lollipops? It’s been like a whole week since then, I thought I’d be blocked for something else by now.”

“Blocked for feet on furniture on main.”

“Understandable.” Clint nodded, sitting down in Bucky’s old chair, Steve stayed on the edge of the room, this moment wasn’t his, he’d let them all be together. “How is he?”

“How are you, Pete?” Bucky asked.

“I think I’m gay.” Peter said, eyes shooting open wide before they crinkled as he giggled at himself mostly and Bucky’s unimpressed face. God bless drugs.

“Good to know, buddy.” Clint barely got out as he tried to suppress a laugh at Bucky’s face. “Is it that little guy you had me drive home?”

“His name is Ned! I like him very much!” Peter smiled crookedly, showing off his chipped front tooth.

“Really?”

“Yeah! Miss him. M’sleep now.” Peter muttered tiredly.

“Oh yeah?” Clint asked.

“Yeah.” Peter smiled, the painkiller most likely messing with him as it was Steve’s prescription. He faked snoring while he pretended to sleep for a few seconds, which was counterproductive since he actually fell asleep.

Bucky set him back up on the bed, planting a small kiss on his boy’s cheek. This was the ending he’d always wanted, but maybe just not the means he thought he’d use to get it.

“His timing is about as good as yours Stars and Stripes.” Bucky commented, making his co-dad and lover laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed this wild ride with me. See you in a few next fic I take you back in time, but not with the mind stone! ;))) You can find me on tumblr at mikeyisanauthor and my twitter at mikeytheauthor! Feel free to scream at me or leave me suggestions for one-shots to do, I might do them!! Bye bye!


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